


i want you (bless my soul)

by jbhmalum



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Artist Ashton Irwin, Dirty Talk, Dumbasses, Flirting, Humor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mashton friendship, Misunderstandings, Sexual Tension, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, also it's explicit throughout i wouldn't read this expecting to just skip a smut scene, ashton is into Tall Men(tm), just picture it: wwj calum and 2018 ashton, like a himbo but fic version, mashton are roommates, this is dumb and sexy, yeah basically calum is a tease and ashton likes it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:33:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbhmalum/pseuds/jbhmalum
Summary: Thankfully the elevator comes to a stop before Ashton can combust from the blood flowing through his body or say something else awfully embarrassing like“hi, I’m Ashton and I like tall attractive men and it’s hard finding them when you’re already a giant but you’re actuallytalland I can’t stop looking at you and you just winked at me and hi, would you marry me and pin me against the wall?”.-In which Ashton moves in with a guy named Michael, Michael is in love with Luke and annoyed at Calum, and the guy with shaved blue hair from the elevator is too hot for Ashton to know what to do about it.
Relationships: Calum Hood/Ashton Irwin, Michael Clifford/Luke Hemmings
Comments: 18
Kudos: 85





	i want you (bless my soul)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elivigar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elivigar/gifts).



> hi!!  
> So, this is part of the Club's fic-exchange for the holidays! We got assigned someone to write for, and so that one is for you Anna!! I know you've seen me scream about this fic, but i DID have fun writing it, and it's here, and it's for you, so i hope you like it!!!! Love you lots, hope the holidays are good for you <3  
> I can't not thank [shal](https://wheniminouterspace.tumblr.com/) because, my god you have heard me Scream and, this has been a rollercoaster for us hasn't it? hha love you <3  
> Everyone else, enjoy!! xx

Ashton moves in on a rainy Saturday afternoon at the end of January.

That’s not the best of starts. It immediately sparkles worry and nervousness in him. Well, even more than there was already, what with moving to a new city to look for a new job. Some — his mom, mainly — would say it’s not the smartest thing to do, moving without a plan, but Ashton has decided it was time to finally be a little adventurous. He was getting fed up with working a boring nine to five in his small town where nothing happens and where there are no opportunities for young people like him to blossom.

Ashton’s ambitions might be a bit too big, but he would also like to see if he can do something with his art in the future. Not that he's the best out there, but he likes to think that he has some sort of talent that is worth being exposed to the world, someday. Can’t do that without meeting the right people. And the right people are usually in big cities.

Which is why he’s here now, moving into this big three room apartment in New-York City on the thirteenth floor of a huge apartment block with some guy named Michael. Michael is a musician, a singer and performer who writes his own songs, which is pretty fucking cool. Ashton looked him up after first meeting him, and the few songs he has out are popular enough for an up and coming artist, and they’re really sick, in Ashton’s very unprofessional opinion.

He still can’t believe Michael accepted him as his new roommate when he doesn’t have a job yet. Maybe Michael is just another crazy artist. Which should be scary, but that just makes Ashton certain they’re gonna get on tremendously.

“You have dreams, I know what that’s like,” Michael had said when Ashton had come to visit the place a month ago. “I left home when I turned eighteen with a duffle bag and a guitar and came here to live with a random guy offering a room in his apartment on craigslist in exchange for free guitar lessons. I literally could have gotten killed or worse but I still did it.”

“How did that go?” Ashton had asked hesitantly, nodding appreciatively at the  _ no straights allowed _ sign on the kitchen door.

“Well, Cal can be a pain in the ass but five years later and we’re best friends and he’s my producer, so. Not too bad, I’d say.”

“Yeah, understatement of the century.” 

“What I’m saying is, I get it. As long as you show me you’ll actively try to find a job, it’s all good with me.”

Ashton had signed the papers to live with Michael the next weekend, and he’s been excited and restless ever since, though still apprehensive. That is his boldest move yet. Ashton didn’t leave with a guitar, but he’s gothis paints and brushes and canvases in bulk in boxes, ready to be used or emptied until he has to buy new ones. Once he’s found a job. He can’t let himself do more than practicing in his sketchbook before he’s got a somewhat secure job or else he’s going to let himself go before he’s even started looking for something, and that’s not okay. Hopefully that won’t last too long. He needs a job if he doesn’t want to get kicked out.

“I’m ordering pizza from Papa John’s for dinner,” Michael says from Ashton’s doorway once Ashton’s got everything in there — not that he brought much; just clothes and art supplies and a laptop and the four books he owns, basically. He doesn’t need more than that. “Do you want anything specific?”

“Surprise me,” Ashton says, to which Michael raises an eyebrow before nodding approvingly and going back to the living room and placing the order. Ashton lets out a smile as he puts the last of his clothes away in the wardrobe, some of the stress rolling off his shoulders despite the rain still hitting the window softly.

Yeah, they’ll get on well enough.

  
  


* * *

Michael is already awake and scribbling in a used notebook on the couch when Ashton stumbles into the living room the next morning.

“Morning,” Ashton mumbles before he can reach the kitchen. Michael looks up, tired eyes and a small smile on his face. “Not to make assumptions from the get go, but I really didn’t peg you as a morning person.”

“Oh, I’m really not,” Michael yawns. “I just never went to bed.”

“Ah. Well, that’s more like it,” Ashton says. “Not that not sleeping is good, but I do that more often than I should, so I’m not one to judge.”

“I knew you’d fit right in,” Michael grins.

Ashton hums, his own lips curving upwards slightly. “Are you going to sleep at some point or do you want to help me make pancakes?”

Michael’s face lights up even more if possible. “Is it too extra if I ditch my boyfriend to marry you instead?”

“Nothing’s too extra for pancakes, I’m pretty sure.”

“Great! A wedding coming right up, then! Come on,  _ husband _ , let’s make pancakes.”

Ashton rolls his eyes fondly as Michael gets up, threading a hand through his tousled fringe — he really does look like he belongs in a band; Ashton would have thought he was in one if he didn’t know Michael performed on his own — and stretching the sleep he didn’t get out of his body.

Together they move to the kitchen — the big, spacious kitchen that Ashton doesn’t really know what to do with — and they make pancakes after disagreeing about the size they should make them.

“Why would you make them the size of my hand when you could make them twice as big?” Michael had said.

Ashton had rolled his eyes again, but he’d thought that it was pretty funny, that this was what they would argue about. “Well, why don’t we make half of them big and half of them smaller? Compromise, right? They’ll taste the same anyway, you know, but if you insist.”

Michael had shrugged, not too hard to please, apparently, and that was the end of it.

And now here they are, sitting at the kitchen table and eating pancakes together as if they’ve done this a million times before.

“So,” Michael says through a mouthful of his third giant pancake. Ashton had thought there would be leftovers, but Michael is a big eater, as it turns out, and it looks like everything is disappearing this morning. “Any idea where you’re gonna apply for jobs?”

“Kind of everywhere, I guess,” Ashton says. “I can’t afford to be too picky, can I?”

“True. But is there somewhere you’d  _ like  _ to work at more?”

“There’s this bookstore a few streets down that’s hiring, I wouldn’t mind that too much. Not that I know too much about books, but I read them.” Ashton would have loved to own more books, he really would have. But art supplies already cost him an arm and a leg, so he’s resorted to borrowing books in libraries. It’s not ideal, because he doesn’t read very fast, but he’s used to it now. “A few coffee shops are hiring, too,” he goes on. “That could be nice.”

Michael takes a sip of his tea. “You ever worked at a coffee shop?”

“Not really, but in high school I used to work weekends at this one restaurant type place where I lived.”

“Were you any good?”

“I Like to think so.”

“So maybe you have a chance at the coffee shops, then.”

Ashton shrugs. “Maybe. But I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Well, if it’s any help at all, I believe you can do it,” Michael says confidently. “I don’t see a reason why not.”

“You know, I could be a total loser who can’t do anything and that people would never hire.”

“Not true,” Michael says. “I don’t believe people are losers. Everyone is capable of doing anything.”

“You’re that kind of guy? Sees the positive everywhere?”

“Well, it hasn’t failed me so far. If I’d had a different mentality I wouldn’t be– oh excuse me,” Michael says as his phone goes off on the table beside him. “Hi babe,” he says when he takes the call, moving to the privacy of his own room.

Right. Michael had mentioned a boyfriend. From what Ashton gathered it’s fairly recent, too, which is bound to be interesting. Ashton wonders if Michael is the type to be all lovey-dovey and talk about his significant-other every chance he gets even with people he doesn’t know, or if he keeps all of it for his songs. Or maybe he does both. Ashton will find out soon enough.

He finishes his breakfast, stealing some of Michael’s bigger pancake to prove to himself that it does, in fact, taste the exact same, before cleaning his plate in the sink. He knows Michael has a dishwasher, which is cool, but he’s used to cleaning the dishes like this; his parents weren’t a fan of using the dishwasher, claiming it was using up too much water (which, now that he’s older, Ashton isn’t sure that’s true) so he doesn’t think he’ll get rid of this habit soon.

“Sorry about that,” Michael says when Ashton is done, drying his hands on the dish towel. “That was Luke. He’s my boyfriend. I, uh. I’m gonna go to his after lunch. Is that cool?”

“Of course it is. Please don’t stop living your life on my account, I’ll manage.”

“Sweet,” Michael smiles. He sits back down, and as Ashton leaves the kitchen to take a shower he hears a disgruntled, “hey, why is half of my pancake missing?” Ashton only lets out a light laugh before getting his clothes and going to the bathroom to get rid of the night.

—//—

While Michael is away, Ashton takes the time to display all of his art supplies the way he wants to in his room. Thankfully there’s a fair amount of empty space just waiting to be filled, so he doesn’t struggle too much. He puts the canvases away in the lower drawer of his wardrobe, and all of his paints and brushes in a box beside the tiny desk.

The easel, his favourite, goes next to that, right where the light from the window hits it the best, and all his sketching tools just end up on the desk. He’ll use that most often, anyway, so he doesn’t really mind it not being put away. He’ll pretend that’s why he’s doing this, not because he’s lazy.

He calls his mom afterwards, telling her he’s settled well enough, reassuring her that Michael seems like a cool dude and that they’re probably going to get on pretty well and  _ ‘no, that wasn’t all a fraud to take my money or kill me, mom, good people exist’ _ , he tells her, even though she wasn’t totally wrong to worry. But Ashton is twenty four, he’s a grown adult, and he’ll make his own decisions. And if they ever, somehow, get him killed, then it’ll be his own fault but at least he’d have been adventurous. Or just a moron, but he’d never admit to that.

Michael texts him at around five p.m. to inform him he’s staying over at Luke’s place, wishing him good luck for the job search, so Ashton goes to make dinner after sending back a quick  _ thank you, enjoy yourself. _ It’s a bit early, but that means he can take the time to cook the vegetables without a rush while listening to his Spotify Daily Mix. Vegetable pasta bake is one of his favourite comfort foods, and that way he’ll be able to have some at least four times this week, which will be fantastic and not too desorienting for his first week into the unknown.

While that’s heating slowly in the oven, Ashton takes the time to print a few resumes and cover letters — thank god Michael has a printer, because that is saving him a whole lot of money right now — that he puts away in a presentation folder for tomorrow. When he’s done dinner is ready, and he eats it while trying not to get up and dance to his favourite songs because he would end up putting food everywhere but in his mouth, but he saves that for his pre-bedtime ritual.

Not that it’s one he follows, but it’s never too late to start. Dancing to his favourite songs can only bring him luck for tomorrow.

* * *

There’s no way to know for sure if that’s worked yet.

He spends the next two days walking the streets of New-York City in the cold, barely taking the time to appreciate it, too nervous that every new place he’s leaving an application for a job will tell him no on the spot. Only half a dozen do, which isn’t ideal for sure, but he’d say it’s not too bad out of the thirty-something jobs he applied for. Most places tell him he’ll get a call back in the next few days whether the answer is yes or no, and that’s sort of stressful, but it could be way worse, he reasons.

And Michael is probably right. He can do this. He’s smart, even though he might not be the scholar kind of smart society likes to reward these days, and he’s motivated and he thinks he sold himself well enough to the places he got a chance to introduce himself. There’s no reason why no one would want to hire him unless they don’t actually need extra workforce. And that wouldn’t be on Ashton. There’s nothing he could do about that.

He stops at Dunkin’ on his way back home on the second day to buy a few donuts for him and Michael (he’s elected Michael really deserves it, being a supportive and fun new roommate and all). The night has started to fall, the sky painted a myriad of shades of deep blue, all more mesmerizing than the others. It’s a sight to behold, he thinks, and it sure is worth the few degrees that have gone with the last rays of sunshine.

He’s a little more relaxed, mind filled with colours instead of gray fumbling thoughts as he gets to the apartment block, relieved to have done what he needed to, and he walks to the elevator with an easy smile on his face.

He goes to press the button to call for the elevator, but it’s already been pressed. Frowning, he looks around to find a man sitting on the bench. He’s clad in a leather jacket and black from head to toe, beanie covered head buried in his phone.

“Hi,” Ashton says, mentally slapping himself immediately, because since when does he acknowledge the people waiting by the elevator with him? That’s not something you  _ do. _

The guy looks up, and Ashton thinks he may die from embarrassment because he looks annoyed, then he  _ wishes  _ the ground would actually swallow him up because the guy is absolutely gorgeous and a little intimidating in a way that’s attractive, big pouty lips and brow furrowed slightly.

Then he seems to notice Ashton, and he sits up straighter, brow soothing out and a sly smile creeping up on his face.

“Hello to you, too, stranger,” he says. “What a nice treat to end the day.”

He gets up at the sound of the elevator doors opening, the look in his eyes saying he’s noticed the colours on Ashton’s cheeks at his words.

Ashton gives him a shy smile, trying not to look too much, but the guy is almost towering over him which is doing all sorts of things to Ashton. That’s even more apparent once they’re inside the elevator and Ashton is leaning against the mirror. Ashton is not short. He isn’t short at all, so how is this guy so  _ tall  _ and why is it the hottest thing Ashton has seen in months and– oh, okay. He notices the pair of black platform boots, and yeah, that makes more sense. It’s also even hotter. Especially paired with the all black attire.

It does make Ashton feel extremely lame though, here in his red hoodie and ripped skinny jeans.

He feels eyes on him suddenly, making his cheeks turn another shade of red when he notices he’s been looking this stranger up and down probably a little too intently. Ashton’s eyes flicker towards his face, and the guy is smirking slightly, beanie off his head revealing shaved blue hair that he’s running a hand through — as much as he can with the amount of it on his head — and, yeah, that’s totally cool. Doesn’t make him more attractive or anything like that.

If he weren’t so caught up in the fact that this guy is probably everything he could dream about, Ashton would take a step back and store away every way he could paint this guy in his best light. He’s not the boring kind of attractive Ashton often sees, face squarer and cheekbones higher, and Ashton thinks he could do it so much justice if he were to paint him as part of the collection that’s just waiting to be worked on.

“I like your hair,” Ashton blurts out instead, and once again wishes he could pass away, or even just pass the hell  _ out _ , as blood flows to his face. Thankfully the guy doesn’t look too weirded out by the unprompted comment. Quite the contrary, he seems strangely pleased by Ashton’s reaction.

“Thanks,” he says with a grin too big for such a small comment. “Yours doesn’t look too bad either, sweetheart.”

“I, huh.” Ashton threads a hand through his stupidly messy and boring and absolutely  _ too bad _ curls, heart beating about in his chest at the pet name. Ashton shouldn’t like this so much.

“I mean it,” the stranger goes on, apparently reading Ashton’s mind, which isn’t scary at all. “Nice thing to tug on, and all that.”

Ashton is officially about to explode and be sent into another dimension from embarrassment and the knowing glint is the guy’s eyes and his blood not knowing where to go as every part of his body is wanting some right now. He can’t possibly respond to that. He tries to anyway, because it seems he’s a masochist who likes to make a fool of himself, but he just ends up stuttering, making the source of his predicament wink through a laugh.

Thankfully the elevator comes to a stop before Ashton can combust from the blood flowing through his body or say something else awfully embarrassing like “ _ hi, I’m Ashton and I like tall attractive men and it’s hard finding them when you’re already a giant but you’re actually  _ tall  _ and I can’t stop looking at you and you just winked at me and hi, would you marry me and pin me against the wall?”. _

Clutching the bag of donuts close to his chest, Ashton gives a small, pained smile to blue haired-guy as he gets out of the elevator and onto his floor, because Ashton is very polite. And then the doors close, not before Ashton gets a full view of this tall, large, grunge looking man giving him an approving look, and Ashton is ready to melt through the floor and all the other ones below.

Okay, well.

If this guy lives in this building, that means Ashton is bound to bump into him again at some point, and he doesn’t know if he’s looking forward to that or dreading it with everything he has.

He’ll worry about that after he’s brought Michael his donuts before they get cold. Or, whatever donuts do if you don’t eat them soon enough. Ashton doesn’t have enough remaining working brain cells to remember that right now.

—//—

“... no, you know I don’t mind. Of course babe, see you. Take care.”

Despite the words, Michael is pouting at his phone when Ashton sets foot into the living room three minutes later.

“Something wrong?” Ashton asks. His heart is still pounding in his ears. Hopefully Michael doesn’t notice.

Michael shrugs. “Nothing  _ wrong _ , exactly. Luke cancelled our date tonight because of work.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Ashton says regretfully.

“It’s chill, not his fault. I was just looking forward to it.”

“Will this help?” Michael frowns, before his eyes light up like a child on Christmas day when he sees the bag of donuts Ashton is handing him. “Thought you’d like those.”

“Ashton,” Michael says, taking two steps and cupping Ashton’s face, giving him a big, wet smack on the cheek. “If you’re not careful, I  _ will  _ have to marry you. That’s a threat.”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I won't give you a choice.”

“Well, maybe that would prevent me from wanting to ask strangers to marry me just because they’re tall,” Ashton mumbles to himself, accepting the frosted donut Michael gives him.

“What?” Michael asks. Ashton can see he’s torn between being confused and wanting to laugh.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You did. I repeat,  _ what _ ?”

Ashton groans. “There was this fucking hot dude in the elevator and he was tall and hot and– I already said that. And I think I made a fool of myself and I barely even said anything. And then he winked at me,” Ashton pouts.

He will not mention the suggestive comment. He will not  _ think  _ about it. (Except he will, as soon as he gets into the shower because getting his hair pulled always makes him come so fucking hard and he can’t stop picturing this guy doing it as he fucks him like the good boy Ashton can be.)

Michael does let out a chuckle then, spitting donut everywhere. Ashton doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even scowl at him, too focused on trying to tame the red rising back on his cheeks and the way his pants are becoming uncomfortable.

“Does he live here?” Michael asks.

“I mean, maybe?” Ashton starts. He takes a bite of his donut, here in the middle of the living room, still wrapped up in his hoodie. “That’s what I assumed, but he could have been visiting someone.”

“Ah, well. Guess you’ll know soon enough if you see him again.”

Michael has already finished the donut, and he goes for another one, sitting back down on the couch where a bunch of notebooks and a guitar are laid, and that prompts Ashton to remove his shoes, at least, and join Michael on the armchair next to him.

Michael’s focusing on writing, apparently; he’s only playing shows in bars on weekends until the summer, because his goal is to write and write and to release an actual album next year, and it’s starting to sink into Ashton’s mind that he’s living with someone who’s well on his way to become actually _ famous. _

Ashton takes out his phone, well intent on his life remaining the same and forgetting about hot dude and stalking his highschool friends and former co-workers on Instagram.

“Hey,” Michael says after five minutes of silence when he finally picks his guitar back up. “Is that why you always say no to my marriage proposals?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not tall enough?”

Ashton scowls. “Shut up. I’m not marrying you because I’d be the only person doing the house chores in this relationship and I don’t stand by that.”

“Right.” Michael smiles, and strums the strings once. “You keep telling yourself that. You have a thing for men taller than you. I’ll remember that.”

“Didn’t say that,” Ashton grumbles into his phone.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. You should meet Cal. My man is  _ tall _ .”

Ashton makes a face. “Ew, no. I’m not gonna date your best friend.”

“Who said anything about dating?” Michael raises an eyebrow suggestively. Ashton ignores him. “Well, right now he’s being an ass and we’re on a best friend break, anyway. So you absolutely could do whatever with him and I wouldn’t give a single fuck.”

“Still a no. That would be too awkward.”

“But–”

“ _ Michael,” _ Ashton insists, trying to look intimidating and probably failing. “This conversation is over. No more talking about tall men. I don’t even know why I brought it up, it’s my own damn fault.”

“It sure is.”

Michael only laughs when Ashton throws the nearest pillow at him.

Ashton gets up to take his shower.

* * *

Miraculously, Ashton gets a call back for a job on Friday.

He’s in the middle of sketching a sleeping Micheal sprawled out on the couch, eyes fluttering in his sleep and hand loosely wrapped around the neck of his guitar laid on his stomach like the most comfortable blanket, when his phone rings on the coffee table.

“Shit,” he whispers when Michael frowns at the noise, and gets up to retrieve it.

He goes to answer in his room so as not to wake Michael up, and he almost screams in joy when the first coffee shop he applied for tells him he would be a great fit and that he should come in on Saturday for a work trial. He tries not to sound too surprised — maybe he shouldn’t be so pessimistic but he wasn’t expecting a positive answer, especially not this soon — and eventually agrees to it.

The call is short, to the point, and the woman sounds rather nice and laid back, which puts Ashton slightly at ease even though he immediately starts stressing out about the trial tomorrow when he realizes he needs to not fuck anything up if he wants the job secured.

The apartment is too quiet for the excitement and anxiety taking root side by side in him. He tries to call his mom, but she obviously can’t answer because she’s at  _ work, _ and Ashton would really like to wake Michael up but he has a feeling that wouldn’t go over too well. Which is fair, Michael deserves more than the three hours of sleep Ashton got.

So he goes back to his seat and to sketching his sleeping roommate with deft fingers. At least that serves to calm him down. Drawing always does. It has since he was too young to know what he was doing with pencils and crayons, but the act of holding them in his hands and scribbling his thoughts in bright or dark colours was like therapy to him, and it hasn’t really changed since.

When he’s done with Michael — he doesn’t know if the swipes of charcoal reflect the creative beauty that surrounds Michael the way he wants to, but he can work on that later — Ashton starts on something else on the next page, and it takes him a minute to realize he’s started sketching the man from the elevator.

That brings a smile to his face, makes his heart dance in his chest. It’s dumb, not a reaction Ashton wants to have about a stranger, but he doesn’t linger on it.

Ashton mindlessly goes on with it, bringing the eyes to life and the rest of his face. He can’t seem to get the proportions of his body right though, but he doesn’t get too hung up on that. After all, he’s only seen him once.

Seeing him again would have been nice, he thinks, though it’s probably for the best that he hasn’t. Ashton is going to need to focus. On his art, on his work. He doesn’t need some mysteriously hot and intimidating bloke distracting him from getting his life together.

He’ll settle to thinking about this stranger doing all sorts of things to him in the privacy of his own head, maybe have some more fun with himself tonight, and then he’ll forget about him.

Job. That’s what he’ll have to think about from now on. If he manages to get it.

* * *

“I’ve got the job,” Ashton smiles on Saturday night when Michael comes back from his date, glowing like the brightest work of art.

“You do?”

“I do.” Ashton still can’t believe it. “I start on Monday.”

“Proud of you,” Michael says with a kiss to Ashton’s head before making a beeline for the bathroom to take a shower. It makes Ashton feel warm inside, that Michael likes him enough already to do that without a second thought.

Later, when they’re both on the brink of falling asleep on the couch in front of a rerun of the first season of Skam, Michael mumbles “ _ Luke told me he loves me _ ” into Ashton’s neck as his eyes close. If Ashton had any doubt left about being fond of Michael at all, then the way his heart lights up with joy at this would be answer enough.

* * *

Ashton is going to be late.

He’s going to be late for his first day at work, all because he stayed up too long painting.

He shouldn’t have taken out his brushes at twelve a.m., because he knows how he is. Once he gets started, he gets lost in the colours and the swift movements of his brush, and time flies by without any care to make him aware of it.

But Michael had made dinner for the two of them, and it wasn’t necessarily the best — Ashton has noticed Michael isn’t too fond of cooking — but it was made specifically for him to enjoy, and it was made with care. And Michael had started talking, as he does, and Ashton had listened passionately and then he’d started asking questions, about Michael and about what it was like to be a musician in New-York, and he’d asked about life and his boyfriend and everything in between.

Michael is an interesting guy. Not that Ashton was doubting that before, but that conversation cemented it for him. Michael is lively and fun, and he has the mind of an artist, and Ashton tends to gravitate towards those. It doesn’t seem to matter that Michael doesn’t know how to draw a straight line or that Ashton has no idea how to string two words together and have them make sense. They still understand each other. They’ve still connected better than Ashton could have hoped in such a short amount of time. Some people are just like that, though, and they’re rare to find, and Ashton isn’t about to take Michael for granted.

But that means that Michael kept him up way later than anticipated with his stories of meeting Luke at a festival and of struggling to find his place in the industry and of how if it wasn’t for Cal, then he wouldn’t have made it so quickly. And upon getting into his room after that Ashton had seen the piece he was working on and thought “ _ just for a minute _ ”, which obviously turned into something like three hours, and now here he is, on his first day of work, tired and running late.

He’s so engrossed in trying not to freak out too much that he doesn’t notice there’s already someone in the elevator when he gets in until he hears the sound of a throat clearing.

Ashton looks up, startled, and finds himself face to face with the man he’d just started trying to forget about.

“Hey,” blue-haired guy says with a furtive look Ashton’s way before going back to his phone, typing away aggressively, brow furrowed.

“Huh, hi,” Ashton replies, hoping the red on his face can be blamed on being hot under his too many layers of clothing — even though he knows that’s far from the truth; he’s not dressed warm enough for the winter, but he’ll be damned if he’s ever going to wear a jacket.

He wraps his arms around himself, looking around as if that would make the guy disappear from his thoughts and the elevator go down faster.

“You okay?” The guy asks, and Ashton has to look back to him.

“What?”

The guy shrugs, falsely unbothered. “You just look very jittery, is all.”

“Oh,” Ashton says, stopping his legs from dancing on the spot. “I’m okay, just, you know. Running a little late.”

Before he can get a reply to that the elevator stops two floors below his, and an older woman gets in, standing between the two of them and effectively shutting down any possible conversation.

The elevator stops at almost every floor, which isn’t ideal because it’s taking more time to get to the first floor, therefore making him a bit more late, but at least it means more people are in between Ashton and any embarrassing comment he could make.

He still can’t help every little glance he throws the stranger’s way, captivated by his rapidly typing fingers and the annoyed frown on his face. Ashton swears the way down is taking longer than it actually is. It has to be. Otherwise he doesn’t know how he possibly has the time to take in every single detail about this man from the corner of his eye.

The worn leather jacket that looks like it’s going to burst under the broad shoulders and bigger arms. The slight stubble growing on his chin and jaw, that Ashton believes he shouldn’t be able to notice from the other side of the elevator, but his eye for detail is betraying him. The black ink peeking out of the sleeve on his wrist, and some more on his hand. Those are big hands. They’d do the work of holding Ashton’s wrists down just fine.

Ashton looks down, and he has to contain his facial expressions when he takes in the legs on this guy. They should not look this good in ripped blue jeans. They should  _ not _ . Blue jeans shouldn’t look this good either, Ashton thinks. He hasn’t worn any in years, but these ones fit so perfectly, and cuffed over the same black boots they look absolutely fucking great.

This is a problem. Who is this guy and why is he making Ashton’s heart rate accelerate and his face flush without doing anything and why does Ashton wish he would pay attention to him instead of rolling his eyes as he brings his phone to his ear? Ashton wants the attention. He would probably melt under it, but he thinks maybe having this playful gaze and those teasing words focused on him would be better than being ignored.

Ashton is being an idiot. They don’t know each other. They’ve seen each other once, and they didn’t even have a real conversation. Hot guy doesn’t owe him anything at all, not even a glance his way. Maybe he didn’t even recognize Ashton; that would be crushing and humiliating because he hasn’t left Ashton’s mind, but also something he should have expected.

Still, Ashton half hopes he can maybe slide a compliment his way once everyone is out of the elevator, to catch at least some of his attention — no, it’s not desperate at all. But as soon as the doors open the man of his absolute dreams bumps past everyone, an angry “ _ whatever, your boyfriend is a dick _ ” escaping his lips into the phone the last thing Ashton hears as he disappears out of the building before Ashton has even left the elevator.

He only leaves when a kid calls for him to get out, then it hits him that he’d forgotten all about being late and his eyes grow wide when he remembers he has to hurry the fuck out of here.

He tries not to panic too much about not arriving on time. The only thing that prevents his thoughts from spiralling into anxiety and making him cry before even getting to work is to think about elevator guy.

He didn’t seem to be in the best of moods this morning, which is upsetting but also made him look even hotter. Ashton wouldn’t have liked to be on the other side of that conversation. He didn’t sound angry, but he sounded disappointed and definitely not happy. But the way his brow was furrowed gave him a slightly intimidating edge, and Ashton knows this is something that gets to him. In another scenario this isn’t something he would mind at all, and fuck, those thoughts don’t belong in the streets of New-York on the way to work.

The good thing is, that just means chances are he wasn’t ignoring Ashton, or not on purpose. He just had real life things to worry about, and Ashton thinks as far as reasons go, that one is rather solid. Not that this guy needs a reason for not talking to Ashton. Ashton just needs to make one up so as not to go crazy.

When he gets into work twenty minutes later, barely late and a little breathless from the cold and his high speed walk, he’s made peace with the fact that he didn’t get a chance to talk to him. Unless he’s just staying over at a friend’s place often, the guy seems to live above Ashton, and Ashton is intent on taking advantage of that and approaching him at another time.

Even if he’s useless when it comes to flirting, he’s determined to catch his attention again.

* * *

As he should have expected, that’s just wishful thinking.

A week passes, and then two, and all the eight times — not that he’s been counting — he sees the man Ashton does nothing more than blush and stutter at every  _ sweetheart _ thrown his way, at every subtle or lewd comment about Ashton’s eyes or lips or about how Ashton would look lovely pressed against the mirror of the elevator if he was the one pressing Ashton into it. Ashton hears it all; the guy gets bolder and his words filthier with every encounter, and Ashton has said almost nothing back each time, though he guesses his body has been doing the talking for him.

He feels like he’s seventeen again and discovering he’s very much into guys. And seventeen year old Ashton was dumb and useless. He doesn’t even know the guy’s name, and yet he loses his footing with every playful glance and carefully placed word.

“Too bad the floor is dirty,” the guy says one day after Ashton has spent most of the elevator ride biting his lip and trying to hide his growing boner. It’s not his fault the guy is standing right up in Ashton’s space for the first time, hand holding his jaw and fingers tracing his bottom lip.

Ashton can’t look at him. His skin feels tight and his palms are sweaty and there’s  _ want  _ flowing through every part of his body, but he can’t make himself look him in the eyes.

“Why is that?” Ashton asks, voice hoarse.

“Because I think you’d look very good down on your knees, sweetheart.”

Ashton flushes all over, not expecting the words, though he likes them very much. Which should probably be concerning. “I can–”

The guys lets out a chuckle. “Oh dear. You’d let a stranger fuck your mouth in this dirty place?”

Ashton nods.

“You eager little thing,” the guy laughs, and Ashton is filled with the most pleasing sort of humiliation. “Well, that's too bad. You deserve a clean floor. At the very least.”

The elevator comes to a stop at Ashton’s floor then, and the guy tells him he has things to do with a smirk, so Ashton leaves begrudgingly, left hanging.

The worst part is that it all doesn’t stop in the elevator. The thoughts and words carry over to work and to his bed and to his sketchbooks. Ashton has pages filled with various forms of him. It’s ridiculous.

Michael keeps telling him he’s being an idiot and to just ask him out, but that’s easier said than done. Ashton is pretty sure the guy isn’t actually looking for something. If anything, he’s probably bored, and this is just mindless flirting to spice up his life a little — Michael also tells him he’s being an idiot when he gives him this excuse; “he just told you he’d like you to suck him off, what’s not clicking?”. But Ashton doesn’t care. He’s not looking for anything, either. Sure, he wouldn’t say no to  _ something _ , whatever that may be, but he’s not waiting up on it. He’s not.

He needs to focus on everything else, anyway. Updating his stupid art website, for one, which is a pain in the ass — he hasn’t uploaded anything in a year and it looks like a mess right now. Work, which is going well. A little hectic, but that was to be expected at a place like this. He doesn’t mind it too much; it keeps him busy when he does need to stop thinking about the dreamiest man on Earth. The other baristas are lovely as well. Ashley, the sassy yet absolutely adorable woman with the shaved head whom he works with the most, is his favourite, hands down. She’s even had the privilege — or misfortune, some would say — to hear all about his life almost as much as Michael has.

He’s glad for her. And for Michael, who already acts as if they’ve known each other forever.

“I kind of hate Cal right now,” he’d told Ashton one day after he’d stayed listening to Michael ramble about his love for Luke for hours — it was sweet, really, in an idiot-in-love kind of way. “But I still can’t call you my best friend instead of him in good faith, cause I’ll regret it when I don’t hate him anymore. You’re definitely the best roommate I’ve ever had, though.”

“And I should be happy with that?” Ashton had said, pretending to be outraged.

“Of course! I love you, isn’t that all that matters? Wait, can I say I love you as, like, a friend, or is that too gay?”

“Michael,” Ashton had said, serious. “You suck your boyfriend’s dick every chance you get, and my brain actually melts in front of a stranger every time I see him and he basically tells me he wants to fuck me. I think we’re past worrying about being ‘too gay’. I love you too, you idiot.”

Michael’s smile then had lit up his face, bright and colourful, and Ashton had thought, maybe, somewhere in another universe, he would have fallen for it and been happy about it.

—//—

However, this isn’t another universe.

This is the real one, and in this one Ashton is interestingly fascinated with a tall stranger with blue hair that makes him lose his senses, and Michael is wondrously in love with Luke.

Ashton is reminded of that as he gets home from work one evening almost a month after having moved in and finds the two of them on the couch in a state of undress Ashton doesn’t want to think about, hands and faces roaming places Ashton never wanted to see.

“Fucking hell,” he shouts, covering his face, but it’s too late. Michael’s butt is engraved in his mind forever now. Among other things.  _ Fucking hell _ .

“Oh my god, Ashton I’m so sorry–”

“ _ Mike _ , you didn’t tell me your roommate was coming back this early—”

“It’s not my fault I got caught up in you!”

“Unbelievable,” Ashton breaks the couple’s alarmed comments off. “I’m just– I hate you so much. I’m gonna go to my room to put down my stuff and I’m gonna come back in five minutes and you’re both gonna have put your dicks away, yeah?”

They both hum, and Ashton blindly moves to his room with a groan. He takes off his hoodie and his shoes and sits on his bed for a minute, rubbing his face to try and get rid of the cursed image of Michael with his head in between Luke’s legs. But it’s too late, and he knows he’s going to have to live with it imprinted on the back of his eyelids forever if not longer than that.

“I’m sorry,” Michael says, bashful and face red when Ashton comes back to the living room. “I didn’t know it was this late already or I wouldn’t–”

“On the fucking  _ couch? _ Are you for real? I sit my ass on here almost as much as you do!”

Michael blushes even harder if possible. Ashton relishes it; it’s rare to see Michael anything but bubbly and loud and sure of himself. “I’m so sorry,” Michael says again. “I promise it’s never happened before, but we were here and–”

“Hum, hello?” a timid voice comes from the couch. Michael shuts up, and they both turn to look at Luke, face as red as Michael’s hidden behind his long curls. “I’m Luke.”

As if Ashton didn’t know. As if he hadn’t been shown countless selfies and various other pictures of Luke asleep or playing Michael’s guitar or just looking pretty doing nothing. Poor guy probably doesn’t know Ashton has seen his face so much without his informed knowledge.

“Hi Luke,” Ashton says still. There’s no need to make him even more uncomfortable. “I'm Ashton. Nice to finally meet you. Even under these awful circumstances.”

“I’m so sorry, really–”

“Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you,” he says to Luke with a glare Michael’s way, before ruffling Michael’s hair with a roll of his eyes and a fond sigh. “It’s cool, whatever. You staying for dinner Luke?”

Luke looks hesitant. “I don’t know? I mean this is kind of awkward, I don’t want to, like, intrude.”

“What if I don’t give you a choice, then? You’re staying for dinner. We’re making mac and cheese, come on help me out.”

“And what, I don’t have my say in this?” Michael pouts.

Ashton raises an eyebrow at him. “So you don’t want your boyfriend to stay for dinner?”

Michael’s face just scrunches up in response, face soothed out only when Luke gets up to give him a peck on the cheek. Ashton can only let out an exasperated laugh and tell them to stop being annoyingly sweet lest he needs to book a dentist appointment asap.

They don’t listen, obviously, but Ashton has to admit to himself as he watches the easy banter and fond looks while they cook together that it’s absolutely adorable. It feels mocking, but it’s not their fault, and Ashton can’t blame them for being in love.

After dinner, when Luke has left with a hug for Ashton and a kiss for Michael that is so intimate and full of love Ashton feels the need to turn away from and they’ve cleaned the dishes, Michael knocks on Ashton’s door. He doesn’t come in entirely, just lets his head peek out, a warm smile on his face.

“Hey Mike. Fun night?”

“Yeah, good one.” He bites his lips. “I’m sorry about earlier, that you had to see that.”

“Well,” Ashton says, getting under the covers. “I’ll forgive you if you promise that won’t happen again. My brain is scarred forever.”

“You got it.”

There’s silence for a moment, where they just look at each other peacefully. Ashton is glad he gets to live with Michael. His life would be like a blank canvas waiting to be sprayed with colours without him, he thinks.

“Anyway, I’m glad you like him,” Michael says, voice down to a whisper, as if there’s anybody to bother. “You do like him, right? Cause Cal doesn’t, and that really fucking sucks.”

“Of course I like Luke, he looks like he’s an actual angel. And he liked my art, so legally I can’t dislike him.”

“Right, of course.”

“Seriously though, is that why you guys aren’t on good terms? You and Cal, I mean,” Ashton asks, curious. Michael hasn’t really brought it up, so he’s never thought it okay to ask.

Michael shrugs. “That’s part of it. Apparently they were in high-school together and couldn’t stand each other for some dumb teenager reason. I think they were fighting over a guy or something.”

“What, really?”

Michael just shrugs. “Luke has forgotten, obviously, but Cal is like, very stubborn and resentful. And, huh, you know. We work together and we were also having disagreements on that, so we figured we needed a break from each other.”

“I’m sorry. That must suck.”

“It’s cool,” Michael says softly, though his eyes tell a different story. “He’ll come around to it eventually. It’s just weird, not having him around.”

“Well, I’m here if you need, yeah?” Ashton offers. “Even if I’m not your best friend.”

“Well, you’re getting pretty close, my friend,” Michael says. “That goes both ways, you know. Here if you need to like, talk about that tall, handsome devil from the elevator who wants to fuck you stupid.”

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Ashton groans. “I talked to you about him yesterday after I saw him and you just laughed at me. You’re a terrible friend.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault if you’re useless with men. And that it’s laughable. And that you’re also a slut for–”

“Get out of my room, you menace,” Ashton says, throwing a pillow at Michael. “Go write songs about your boyfriend’s dick or whatever.”

“Not a chance,” Michael laughs slightly. Halfway through closing Ashton’s door, he says, “if I’m going to think about Luke’s dick then I’m going to do it in my bed and think about the things I didn’t get to do to it.”

“ _ Michael _ !” Ashton shouts, but the door is already closed. “You’re a disgusting little shit, I don’t want to know these things!”

“Yeah, love you too,” Michael’s faraway voice replies, bright and sunny.

“I do  _ not _ ,” Ashton grumbles. They both know he’s lying.

Despite himself, Ashton drops off with mixed thoughts of teasing words and the bright colours filling the apartment tonight.

* * *

Ashton sees Luke again sooner than he would have thought.

Michael invites him to watch him play at a private bar the following Friday night, promising he’ll have Luke to keep him company. Ashton hesitates for a while, because he really hates bars and all that happens in them, but in the end he figures it’ll be worth it to see Michael play for real. He’s only ever heard him mumbling with his guitar when he writes, and he would like the full live experience.

So he goes.

“You’re not drinking?” Luke asks with a frown when Ashton orders a cherry coke at the counter. Michael is getting ready on the small stage.

“No,” Ashton says with a shake of his head. “I don’t, uh. I hate drinking, so. Sorry, that’s kinda weird.”

“Absolutely not, you’re good.” Luke turns to the bartender. “Make that two cherry cokes, yeah?”

“Luke, you don’t have to–”

“No, it’s fine,” Luke smiles. “I wanna talk with you and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Also I’ll appreciate my boyfriend more if I’m sober. Come on, I’ll pay for that.”

Luke is stubborn, so he does end up paying, and together they move to a booth at the back of the bar.

Michael is putting his guitar around himself, talking too quietly for them to hear what he’s saying to the people close to the stage. Ashton thinks he looks good there, the soft lights lighting up his easy smile even more. Luke must agree, because when Ashton turns to him, he finds him with his chin in his hand, the fondest look on his face, mouth curving upwards slightly and eyes twinkling with something that must be love. It looks lovely.

“You guys are disgusting, you know that?” Ashton says instead, making Luke jump.

“What?”

Ashton takes a gulp of his drink. “You and Michael. Are disgusting. It’s just pouring love out there.”

“We are  _ not _ ,” Luke says mock-offended.

“You so are! At first I thought it was just Michael, like I swear he’s absolutely ridiculous when he tells me about you, it’s like his entire being lights up. But I have a feeling you might be just the same.”

“Michael talks to you about me?”

“Luke,” Ashton sighs. He can’t help smiling at the barely-there blush on Luke’s cheeks. “It’s the only thing he does. He’s so fucking in love with you that I felt like I knew you before meeting you.”

“Oh.”

Michael starts playing then, voice soft yet filling the space perfectly, engaging with everyone but still stealing glances at Luke and Ashton’s table every now and then. Luke and Ashton chat about everything and nothing, listening to each other with one ear and to Michael with the other. He’s  _ good _ . Ashton finds himself picturing him playing to an arena full of people and, yeah, he can totally see it.

“So, Ash,” Luke says, fully turning to him when Michael takes a short break. “Not with anyone, are we?”

“Huh, no. On my own. Why, are you propositioning me?” Ashton says, teasing, and Luke laughs.

“Shut up, I would not start like that. Give me some credit, I’m not that bad at flirting.”

“Well lucky you. I’m fucking useless at it. I wish I wasn’t,” Ashton says.

“You need to flirt? Someone catch your eye?” Luke perks up, interested. “At work maybe?”

“No, no one,” Ashton says, but Luke doesn’t believe him, annoys him into confessing. “Oh, fine! There’s this guy, our neighbour I guess, that I’ve been seeing regularly in the elevator and he makes me lose my fucking mind.”

“You’ve been seeing him? In the elevator?” Luke raises an eyebrow suggestively. “Why do you need to flirt if you’re already there?”

Ashton groans. “I don’t mean I’ve been  _ seeing  _ him. I mean, like, my eyes have been seeing him.” He whines this time, hiding his face in his hands. “And they’ve liked what they’ve been seeing. A lot.”

“And what have they been seeing?”

“A tall, hot, Docs and black wearing guy who looks like he could step on me and I would thank him for it?”

Luke lets out an ugly snort, not quite a laugh, and takes a sip of his almost finished drink. “And that has you losing your mind?”

“Well, that’s part of it,” Ashton mumbles, almost inaudible. His cheeks are getting red, but hopefully it’s dark enough to hide it.

“What’s the other part?”

“That he’s been calling me sweetheart and telling me the things he wants to do to me,” Ashton says, looking everywhere but at Luke.

“And these things are?”

Ashton can’t believe Luke is so invested in this. Even Michael tries to shut him out after laughing at him.

Taking a deep breath, Ashton continues. “That he wants to fuck me, basically, and show everyone who I belong to.” Talking about it to someone he’s seen twice shouldn’t make him chub up under the table.

Luke gapes at him, Ashton can see it from the corner of his eye, before letting out a chuckle. “Ashton, how is that not flirting? Oh my god, it’s like, obvious flirting. Even more than that, what the fuck?”

“Well he’s flirting alright, I’m just not.”

There’s silence, and he looks up at Luke, who’s frowning. “Well you’ve got to be doing something, right? Don’t tell me you’ve not been flirting back?”

“I  _ can’t _ .”

“Why the hell not?”

“I just,” Ashton starts, and he’s flaming red now. “I just lose my senses in front of him and I usually, like, get hard, too, and if I try to speak I just turn into a stuttering mess. It’s so fucking embarrassing, and I’m  _ into it _ .”

“Fucking hell, Ash.”

“What?”

“That’s like… You fucking filthy thing, you look so confident, I just… You’re more than into him, it’s like a whole thing, isn’t it?”

“I need a drink,” Ashton says before Luke can continue.

“Coke won’t help, you know?”

“Then I’ll have an iced tea.” He gets up, takes his debit card. “You want something?”

Luke shrugs. “Sure, I’ll have the same as you.”

“Great. Coming right up.”

There’s a lot of people waiting at the bar, so Ashton stays in line, doing his best to ignore everyone around him. That just makes him think about his dream man, and it’s not ideal, but it’s better, at least.

When he comes back close to ten minutes later, it’s to Michael trying to kiss Luke through a smile. Love. So much fucking love. It’s sweet, and also infuriating. Ashton wants something like this. Not with anyone in particular. Just, something like this. 

Michael leaves with one last kiss to Luke’s cheerful face and a wave to Ashton.

“Thanks,” Luke says when Ashton hands him his iced tea.

They watch Michael sing a song that is vaguely familiar but that Ashton can’t place silently, and then Luke turns back to him.

“So,” he starts, serious. “Is it a kinky thing?”

Ashton almost spits out his drink. “What?”

“The height thing,” Luke clarifies. “Actually, all of it sounds like it’s a kinky thing. You can tell me if it is, I won't tell Michael.”

Ashton looks into his drink for a minute, feeling warm all over as he ponders it. Not that he needs to. He knows the answer to this, but he’s never explicitly talked about it out loud to someone that isn’t a partner.

He clears his throat. “I mean, kind of? I guess it is, cause he’s not just tall, he’s huge, and assertive. Looks like he could handle me, you know?” He blushes harder at his confession, and he’s glad the sound of Michael singing is sort of drowning his words out.

“It’s cool, Ash.” Luke says.

“Is it?”

Luke shrugs. “I mean, I'm into Michael wearing his glasses, so like, yeah. I know it’s not the same thing, but–”

“Wait,” Ashton breaks off with a laugh. “First of all, you’re right, it’s not the same thing. You’re very sweet. Secondly, Michael wears glasses?”

“Only when I ask him to,” Luke says softly, and Ashton chuckles. Luke goes on. “Anyway, it’s all good, you know? Is there something, like, wrong with this?”

Ashton sighs. “I just don’t know if he actually wants to take things further or if it’s just playing.”

“Isn’t there something that could give you a hint?” Luke tries. “Something he did or said maybe?”

“Well, I guess lately he’s been… more obvious about it, maybe? Last week he told me I’d look good on my knees and he was, hum, touching my face.”

"Oh my god.”

“And for the past few days his hands have been… wandering.” Ashton is going to explode, but now that he’s started he can’t stop talking. “To my thighs, or like, the small of my back. And he’s never really touching, just… grazing. It’s so frustrating.”

“Ashton, your man is a fucking cocktease, I swear to god.”

Ashton groans. “And he fucking knows I like it, too. Cause I keep getting hard as fuck when I get to work and it’s the most embarrassing yet the hottest thing ever.”

Luke nods his head, thinking, or taking in what Ashton is saying. “Well, I can tell you, I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn’t say no to doing something more.”

“I just need him to do something  _ first _ ,” Ashton whines.

“But why?”

“Cause, like… It’s hot?” Luke gapes, before laughing, and Ashton groans again, hiding his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I just told you all this. I can’t believe this is your almost introduction to me.”

“Hey, no, I’m glad,” Luke says, clapping Ashton’s shoulder in a strange show of support. “What’s his name, by the way?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Luke blinks.

“I don’t know, alright? We don’t really talk.”

Luke faceplants against the table, and their drinks spill over.

“You truly are useless,” Luke groans, and Ashton pouts.

Luke is no better help than Michael is. He hates them both.

* * *

Sundays are busy.

This is only Ashton’s second Sunday he’s worked, but he can’t say he’s too fond of them.

First of all, it’s a  _ Sunday _ . The weeks have been getting busier, with work and with all the active research he’s started doing to try and get his artworks out there. Updating his website was a pain in the ass already, because he sucks at computers and marketing, and Ashton knows there’s no need for anything to happen soon, but it’s been feeling useless because it still hasn’t gotten a lot of exposure, but Ashton won’t give up this soon, that’s not in him. It’s tiring, though, and one of the reasons why he would have loved to sleep in on this cursed Sunday.

Cursed might be a strong word, but it has  _ not  _ been going well so far. It’s barely ten a.m., and it’s already the worst day of the week by a mile if not ten. He woke up thirty minutes before his alarm from a terrifying dream that slipped away as soon as he opened his eyes though it still left him sweaty and disoriented. Shampoo attacked his eyes in the shower. He put his favourite band shirt on, only to spill the entirety of his coffee on it while he was busy rubbing his eyes. He screamed, because that shit burns and also because he was furious, which woke Michael up.

And so he left for work without his favourite shirt on and without coffee and with Michael’s last words to him being “fuck you for waking me up”.

That’s not even mentioning work.

People are dicks. That’s no surprise, but Ashton thinks Sunday people are the dickiest of them all. Most of them feel entitled that people are working for them while they’re just lazing about and they just don’t understand that you’re a person just like them and that you’re  _ tired _ and that you would also like to have a fucking lazy Sunday morning.

“Fucking cunt,” Ashton mumbles to Ashley after an old man shouts at them because they weren’t going fast enough. Fucker didn’t even buy anything, just made a scene in front of everyone and then left.

“Don’t worry about people like them,” Ashley says with a tight smile. She looks tired, too, but she’s used to balancing work and college as this is her third year doing it, and she goes back to the next customer with a warmer smile as Ashton continues preparing the drinks.

The rush of people lasts for an additional half hour, and in that time Ashton manages to drop a pastry on the floor and to mess up two drinks. Thankfully Lily and Jade are nice enough to ask nicely for new ones, and Ashton is immensely grateful.

Ashley goes to take a break when it gets calmer, leaving Ashton to clean the counters, waiting for the next customer.

And the next customer comes, and Ashton has to make sure his jaw doesn’t drop to the floor when he sees exactly who it is. This can’t be happening. Why is blue-haired guy in his coffee shop today of all days when he’s never seen him anywhere other than the elevator, and why is his shaved head blond suddenly and why is it even hotter?

Ashton can’t do this. He’s not in a good enough mood to deal with teasing that leads to nothing.

(Who is he kidding? No matter what happens or doesn’t, he’s dying to talk to him again. Or, have him talk to him.)

“Good morning,” Ashton says with a smile on his face. “What can I get you?”

Recognition settles into the guy’s eyes, and he walks quicker to the counter, propping his leather clad arms on it. He looks perfect in Ashton’s coffee shop. Not that he doesn’t usually, but Ashton likes seeing him here.

“Morning sweetheart,” he drawls, brown eyes far too awake for that time of day. Ashton comes to the realization that he’s never seen them from this close. Usually he’s too busy looking away. “What are you doing here?”

“Huh, I work here?”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he smirks. “I came here on a whim, but I might just have to come more often now, won’t I?”

Ashton’s whole body lights up at the idea of seeing him here on a regular basis. Oh, god, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself but he  _ wants  _ it.

“What can I get you?” Ashton repeats, voice as steady as he can get it.

“Well, I  _ was  _ coming here for a coffee. But now I’m wondering,” the guy starts with a low voice, eyes dropping to Ashton’s body until it’s hidden behind the counter and moving back up to Ashton’s eyes slowly, so slowly, his own dark and playful. “Is any piece of you on the menu?” 

If Ashton thought he’d blushed in front of him before, then he must be absolutely crimson now. His stomach dances weirdly and his heart beats so loud the whole coffee shop must be able to hear it, and his face is absolutely on fire. This is too much. This sounds like an actual offer, out there in the real world instead of their elevator bubble, and Ashton has forgotten how to breathe.

He wants to say yes. He wants to say, “ _ I have a break in ten minutes, if you want to wait I’ll give you every single piece of me you want _ ”. He wants to sneak out the back door and meet this guy in the small alleyway and bury his tongue in his mouth and get down on his knees if this familiar stranger asks him to. He’d get on his knees right here, watch those dark eyes get darker from below, let a huge, tattooed hand come up to clutch Ashton’s unkempt curls and bring his face to his crotch. He’d mouth at his cock through his pants, get it wet and hard before opening his pants with his teeth and– fuck.  _ Fuck _ . He can’t be thinking this. He’s  _ working _ , damn it, Ashley could come back any minute.

“Huh, I mean,” Ashton starts with an audible swallow. “I don’t know if–”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I’m just teasing,” the guy says, though the look in his eyes says differently. “Wouldn’t want to take your focus away from work.”

“That might be too late,” Ashton whispers before his brain can stop his mouth.

The guy says nothing, just bites down on his lower lip, humming to himself before shaking his head. “Well, I’m going to put you back to work, then. I’ll have a peppermint mocha with a chocolate eclair.”

“To go?” Ashton strangles out.

“No, I’ll have it here. If you don’t mind, of course.”

Ashton nods, ducking his head to hide the red creeping up on his red face, though it’s probably too late. He takes a plastic cup, ready to write down the name, when he realizes, oh. He’s going to put a name to this guy’s face, and he didn’t know that was something he needed, but he can’t help but be excited about it — also Luke will be proud of him.

Ashton looks back up at the guy.

“Huh, what’s your name?”

The guy smiles, eyes a little softer, though the heat hasn’t disappeared. It’s a good look, maybe Ashton’s favourite so far. “Right,” he says. “I forget. Calum. I’m Calum.”

“Calum,” Ashton repeats while he writes it down on the cup, testing the word out, and he likes how it wraps around his tongue naturally. “I’m Ashton,” he says, when Calum is paying.

Calum just nods, taking back his debit card and walking backwards to look for a seat with a full grin. “Good to know, sweetheart.”

When Ashton turns around to make the drink, he thinks he might be getting a little too fond of Calum, for someone he doesn’t know. He tries to get his dick to calm down, but lets the smile rise on his face freely.

—//—

After that, the morning gets better. He has to deal with — although “deal with” implies that he doesn’t appreciate it — another suggestive look when Calum comes and gets his order, and a stupid wink when Calum leaves the coffee shop. He does have to actually deal with a boner that’s taking forever to go away and never ending questions from Ashley, but at least his mood has improved tenfold.

When he leaves at one-thirty p.m., he does so with a bright  _ good afternoon _ to Ashley and a lull in his steps, and he spends his way back home enjoying the late winter sunshine and replaying Calum’s words in his head. Ashton would love to offer pieces of himself to him. Calum looks like he’d know exactly what to do with them.

His thoughts have barely started drifting to lunch (that Michael has hopefully already made) and the well deserved nap he’s going to take afterwards as he opens the door to the building, when a voice shouts his name from behind him.

Ashton turns around so fast his ankle protests, but he ignores it in favour of watching Calum run up to him, a black dot turning into an actual person as he gets closer. What is happening today?

“Hi again, sweetheart,” Calum says, slightly out of breath. “Miss me?”

Ashton blinks. “Huh, how?”

“Promise I’m not stalking you.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not. I realized I forgot my keys, saw you at the door and seized this opportunity to not be stuck outside,” he explains.

“Yeah, that would have been a shame,” Ashton says easily.

“Well, I guess Mike would have come and helped me out if I’d called, but it’s not– whatever, doesn’t matter. I get to go home now. Thanks to you, darling.”

Ashton feels warm again at the thought of helping Calum out, his cheeks reddening at the new pet name wrapping around his heart loosely. This is ridiculous, he can’t believe this. But maybe not as ridiculous as the way his mouth waters and his heart skips a beat when he opens the door to let Calum in and their bodies brush slightly, Calum towering over him once again. From this close, it makes Ashton think that he’d have to get on his tiptoes slightly to kiss him properly, and it sounds like something out of his dreams.

The elevator opens on some old guy Ashton has never seen before, and they get in when he leaves with a judgmental look at Calum. He probably finds him intimidating, too, but doesn’t have the privilege of finding it hot instead of scary. What a shame.

They both lean against opposite walls when they get in, from habit maybe. Ashton wishes Calum would be closer to him, so that he could appreciate him from up close. Maybe reach out and touch, if he’s bold enough. Even if he hasn’t been so far.

“This must be my lucky day,” Calum says with a smirk, casually leaning against the mirror, hands in his pockets and ankles crossed. It’s not fair that he’s all the way over there looking like this and looking at  _ Ashton  _ like this, eyes lidded with something close to lust and lip caught between his teeth. Ashton regrets having looked away so often before.

Ashton frowns. “What?”

“Saw you twice today,” Calum explains. “Can’t get luckier than that.”

“Shouldn't I be the one saying that?”

“I mean, I'm glad to know you're happy to see me. Pretty thing like you, though, not sure there's a better sight in the world.”

Ashton just blushes harder.

“I like making your cheeks turn red,” the guy repeats. “Makes you even prettier, absolutely adorable.”

“ _ Shut up _ .”

“Yeah?” Caum says softly, and oh god, he’s coming closer to Ashton. The bright overhead lights are hitting his face perfectly, shading it in a way that would make Ashton work to sketch it right. His eyes, tenebrous and heated, have Ashton shrink into the wall before Calum even puts an arm on the wall above his head, trapping him exactly where he wants to be and making his breath catch in his throat.

Calum’s mouth curves upwards slowly, full lips taunting Ashton with how close they are to his face, but he’s stuck, and he can’t take a step forward to capture them with his own. Calum holds the power here, and Ashton is merely a puppet waiting to be told what to do. The fact that Ashton has to look up to look at his face properly is making his brain short-circuit and his palms sweat, and he’s starting to feel too hot under his clothes.

“Want me to use my mouth for something els, love?” Calum says huskily. His breath ghosts over Ashton’s face. “So you can prove to me I  _ can  _ get luckier?”

“Oh my god,” Ashton whimpers, and he feels incredibly small and it’s getting to his head and of fucking course Ashton would like to tell Calum to put his fiflthy mouth to good use. “You’re so fucking huge,” he breathes out instead, not even caring care that he’s exposed himself.

“Yeah? You like that sweetheart?” Calum asks, his free hand slipping under Ashton’s hoodie to curl around his hip over the thin layer of his shirt.

“Fuck,” Ashton whines intelligibly. He’s getting hard again, he can feel it, and the way Calum’s eyes turn darker when he comes closer to him tells him he can feel it, too.

“What is it you like about it sweetheart?” Calum whispers against his lips. Ashton can only turn to mush under him, hips thrusting forwards without his knowledge. “Is it the thought that I could hold you down easily? That I could manhandle you and tell you what to do without breaking a sweat? You want me to do that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes to what?”

“Everything. Anything.”

As soon as the word is out Ashton finds his hips pushed against the wall with a thud, away from Calum’s, and he wants to protest until he realizes Calum is holding him there with just his one hand, strong and sure. Ashton lets out a pitiful whine, his pants growing tighter when he tries to push against it and he  _ can’t. _

“Careful now, everything means a lot of things.”

“Please,” Ashton says still, because he needs to touch him, he needs it more than he needs air.

“Hmm, you beg so pretty already,” Calum breathes, plastering himself against Ashton. They both let out moans at that, and fuck, Calum is as fucking hard as he is, and that just adds more fuel to his desire.

The hand above Ashton’s head comes down to cup his jaw firmly, tilting his head up. Ashton reminds himself he should probably do something with his own hands, brings them to Calum’s waist hesitantly.

“Want me to kiss you?” Calum asks, lips brushing his already. Ashton nods. “Do you deserve a kiss from me yet?”

“ _ Yes _ .”

“Shouldn’t I decide that sweetheart?”

“Please,  _ Calum. _ I swear I'm going to die if you don't do something soon.”

“Well, can't let that happen now can we?”

Calum leans down then, and he’s so close, so fucking close and Ashton can feels his lips covering his, finally, but before there’s any real pressure there’s a familiar sound of the elevator doors opening, and Calum leans back again. Ashton just whines.

“Calum, what–”

“I think that’s your cue to leave, sweetheart,” the deep voice whispers; Ashton whimpers, pushing up into Calum’s hand.

“No, I can’t just–  _ please. _ ”

“Ash,” Calum says firmly, squeezing his hip and jaw. “You’re making the woman waiting to come in uncomfortable, love.”

Ashton’s eyes flicker to his left, and shame fills his body when he notices the woman pressing the button to keep the doors open looking annoyed and everywhere but at where he and Calum are close together.

“Are you gonna leave now?” Calum whispers against his lips, thumb rubbing circles against Ashton’s hip. “This is your floor, I believe.”

“Why can’t I just come with you, why–”

“Because you said you’d do anything, and I heard it loud and clear,” Calum says. “And what I want you to do right now is to be a good boy and go home.” He leans back from Ashton to stand back in his original spot, leaving Ashton cold from frustration. “Just you wait ‘till next time, alright sweetheart?”

There’s a glint in his eyes as he motions for the doors with his head, something like a promise, so Ashton nods through a swallow before forcing himself off the wall and almost running past the woman after one last look towards Calum.

When he gets to his apartment, he slams the door behind him and ignores Michael telling him he’s got lunch ready in favour of locking himself in his room. He strips off his hoodie and pants, jumping on the bed and hiding his moans in his pillow as he strips himself right there, painting the sheets white in a shorter amount of time than he would like to admit, Calum’s strong hands and teasing words filling his mind and body.

Fucking hell.

Well, that was a Sunday morning.

* * *

If only that had just been the Sunday morning. But Ashton isn’t that lucky.

“Are you there next weekend?”

Michael’s voice resounds at the back of Ashton’s head but he doesn’t really hear it where he’s standing at the window of the living room. He’s too engrossed in stalking Calum leaving the building and disappearing into the heart of the city. Of course he’d turn his head when Calum is there to watch.

Ashton has been losing his mind for the past week. Like, actually losing his mind. After eating lunch on Sunday with his face absolutely crimson red at Michael’s knowing eyes boring into his, Ashton had prepared himself to see Calum again.

He’d gotten ready to bump into him and take him home and let him do whatever he wants to him. Except he’d forgotten that he tends to bump into Calum in the morning, and so he’s been seeing him before work every day, unable to do anything but burn with want under Calum’s heated gaze and grazing touches.

“You going to be able to focus on your job today sweetheart?” he’d whispered into Ashton’s ear upon leaving the building yesterday, crowding him against the side of it where nobody would see. He’d spent the whole elevator ride down uttering filthy words to him about how he’d take Ashton right there in front of everyone if he could because “ _ you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I bet you’re hard just at the thought right now _ ”.

“You know I won’t,” Ashton had gritted through his teeth. “Haven’t been able to all week, you tease.”

“You love it,” Calum had said assuredly, and Ashton hadn’t had the chance to try and defend himself before Calum was gone with the ghost of a kiss and a brush of his hand to Ashton’s ass for good measure.

And now here he is, his whole body strung up and on edge, waiting less and less patiently with each passing second. Jerking off to the thought of Calum can only bring him so much relief.

“Hello, Earth to Ashton?”

“What?”

Ashton turns around, facing Michael who’s sitting on the couch with his laptop and still a thousand notebooks littered around him.

“Are you thinking about that guy again? Jesus Christ, what did he do to you?”

“Offered to fuck me and boss me around and didn’t follow through,” Ashton says, not even ashamed.

“Fuck, okay,” Michael concedes, getting a little red. He clears his throat. “That’s not fun, I guess.”

Ashton snorts. “Well, it is, sort of, but mostly it’s frustrating. It’s like it’s right there in front of me but I can’t get it until it’s offered and… yeah. Sorry.” He clears his throat. “What were you saying?”

“Oh, right,” Michael says, sitting upright. “You there next weekend?”

“Yeah, I mean, I got nowhere else to be, I don’t think. Why?”

“Well, you’ll be lucky to know that you’ll finally meet Cal, then.”

Ashton is interested suddenly. He looks to the window one last time to make sure there’s no Calum left to watch, and goes to sit next to Michael. “Oh? You guys talking again?”

“Yeah. He’s admitted to being a dick about all of it, and now he’s coming over next weekend to meet Luke properly over dinner.”

Michael’s absolutely glowing with happiness, the smile on his cheeks almost too big to stay on there. It makes Ashton’s heart warm up excitedly.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he says honestly. “Even if that most likely means I can abandon all hope of ever occupying the best friend seat in your life.”

“Don’t worry about that, you’re still the best roommate ever. And Calum is cool but he can’t  _ paint _ .”

“Well,” Ashton sighs, burying his face into the back of the couch. “I can barely paint either right now.”

“What are you talking about? I see you painting like, at least twice a week.”

“Well, I can’t paint what I want.”

Art block isn’t something Ashton experiences too often. He wouldn’t even say that’s what he’s experiencing right now, either, because Michael is right. He’s been painting. He’s been painting the busy New-York City streets and the sunset he sees from his window every night that he’s not working.

It’s good, but it’s not what he likes to do the most. His paintings come to life when someone’s face is front and center of it. This is why he spends his time sketching Michael and his coworkers and Michael again because he’s always there, sometimes Luke making an appearance on the paper, and, yeah, the man of his life, too.

Ashton lets out a sigh that holds a lot of frustration. A lot.

“I’ve been wanting to add to that portraits series that I did last year, I just haven’t really found the inspiration.”

“Have you not found the inspiration or are you still being a pussy not wanting to ask the inspiration out?” Michael says. He sounds way too happy with himself, and Ashton groans into the couch.

“You shut up. I hate you.”

Michael chuckles. “You don’t, you just said you wanted to be my best friend.”

“I take it back, that was a lie.”

Michael doesn’t seem to care about Ashton’s whining, hugs him too tight before shouting  _ love you _ way too loudly into his ear and going back to his notebooks and scribbles.

Not that he’ll admit to it, but Ashton spends the day curled up on the couch, listening to Michael hum ideas to himself — Ashton still can’t believe he’s getting to hear all of these before the world ultimately does — and thinking about asking the inspiration out, as Michael so nicely put it.

He won’t do it, though. He desperately needs Calum to do it.

* * *

When he leaves for work the next day, Ashton sees Calum put a travel bag in the trunk of a taxi, and he gives a small smile to Ashton when he notices him, softer than ever before, though it’s too far away to really be sure. Ashton wants to be courageous before he leaves and go up to him, maybe kiss him or something, but the taxi driver tells Calum to hurry, and he’s gone with a wave of his hand before Ashton can even wave back.

There’s a pout on Ashton’s face the whole way to work, and it doesn’t leave until he’s back in bed that night.

Ashton doesn’t see him the entire week, and it’s such a startling change of pace that he only grows more frustrated.

He gets irritated with every little thing at work, partly because the patrons are in a more foul mood than usual — Ashley agrees —but mostly because the man of Ashton's dreams isn't there giving Ashton his daily dose of teasing. 

He spends his nights jerking off thinking of Calum fucking him senseless into his bed and calling him sweetheart. Thinks of Michael coming home and finding them like this, Ashton pliant and sweet under Calum's strong body, and that shouldn’t make him come so fast, but it does, and maybe something is wrong with him, but he doesn’t want to change it.

He just wants to see Calum again and for him to do  _ something _ .

—//—

Except halfway through the week, as Ashton is lying in bed, chasing sleep that won’t come to him, he finds himself thinking that he might be missing Calum for more than just the promise of phenomenal sex, and that makes his heart panic a little.

He stops thinking about it.

* * *

It’s a Sunday almost a week later, but that one is a day off, which should be good news, but it means he’s not staying busy and Ashton is getting restless. He doesn’t know how much longer he can wait to get under Calum and get his mind blown — and something else, if Calum is into it, but he won’t ask; he’ll just do what Calum wants him to do and not ask any questions, probably.

He needs to stop thinking about this. He came here to relax and calm himself down.

The park across from their apartment block isn’t the biggest in the city, but it’s still huge, the bushes standing around the wide stretches of grass and pathways. It’s still cold outside, probably too cold to just sit here with a sketchbook and a pencil and no coat, but sue him, Ashton needs it. At least the cold is helping him focus on what’s around him. Even if his thoughts veer off track every few minutes.

“Oh, so pretty boy is an artist, too?”

Ashton lifts his head from his miniature city so fast his neck hurts, and his cheeks flame on at the same time as a smile spreads on his face, not able to retain it at the sight of Calum, a matching smile plastered on his own rosy face. It’s strange, seeing his lips do something that isn’t teasing. Not unwelcome, though.

Fuck, he’s missed his stupidly handsome face.

“And you are… an athlete?” Ashton asks Calum, dressed not in the usual black, but instead clad in grey track pants and a white hoodie. And sneakers.  _ Sneakers _ . Fucker still pulls it all off.

Calum lets out a clear though breathless laugh. “God, no, far from it.”

“Too bad, would have loved to see you in tight running clothes,” Ashton says.

“Damn, what happened to you not being able to say anything to me while I was away?”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Calum smiles, and there it is, the familiar glint in his eyes. He sits next to Ashton, arm thrown behind him on the bench. His presence warms Ashton up instantly. “I’ll know how to make you speechless again when I want to, don’t you worry about that.”

If they hadn’t been sitting in the cold, Calum would have seen his cheeks getting redder, but Ashton is able to hide it for now. God, he’s missed the teasing, though. He guesses it’s better than having nothing at all. He’s  _ pathetic _ .

“Anyway,” Calum goes on. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you an artist? Seems like you are from what I can see. This is pretty good.”

“Oh, thank you,” Ashton says with another, softer smile. “I mean, I don’t get paid for it but yes, I am.”

“I like that. It suits you, I think.”

“Do you?” Ashton turns towards Calum, who looks like he actually means what he’s saying.

“Of course. Can I see what’s in there? If you’re comfortable with it.”

“Sure, yeah,” Ashton agrees, handing him the sketchbook. “These are just sketches though, nothing too fancy.”

“Even better then, don’t you think?”

Ashton shrugs, watching along as Calum points out things he likes from sketches of people and places Ashton has seen over the years. Ashton is glad he didn’t bring his other sketchbook with him, the one he uses most regularly. Michael’s in that one a lot, most of the sketches of him sleeping in various positions on the couch, and Ashton doesn’t want to have to prove to Calum that no, Michael isn’t his boyfriend. He’s Calum’s to take, whenever he wants to. He guesses Calum is in that same sketchbook quite a bit, too, which he wouldn’t have known how to explain–

Oh fuck. Calum’s in all the fucking stupid sketchbooks, he remembers suddenly. He goes to take it back from Calum’s hands when Calum turns the page, landing on himself, standing tall against an invisible wall. Ashton bites his lip nervously, watches as Calum’s fingers hover over the scattered lines, never touching.

“This is how you see me?” Calum asks, wonder in his voice.

“How is that?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, I just… It’s so elegant and powerful, I don’t. I don’t know.”

There aren’t many things Ashton thought would still surprise him about Calum, but he’s the one who’s left speechless now, and Ashton decides to revel in it, although he still feels heat rising to his cheeks at the compliment.

“I’m glad you like it, even if you weren’t really supposed to see it,” Ashton says with a shy smile.

“You must have looked at me quite a bit, if this is all from memory,” Calum says, back to teasing.

“As if that’s any surprise.”

“True, it’s not. Shame, though, means you don’t need me posing for you.”

“I might need you to,” Ashton blurts out before he can think of what he’s saying.

Calum turns to him with a frown. “What? Is that just an excuse to look at me for hours? Cause clearly you don’t need me to.”

“Shut up, it’s not an excuse. There’s this collection of portraits I’ve been wanting to continue, but no one has given me the inspiration to do it yet, and I think you might just be what I need. If you want to, of course,” Ashton hurries to add.

“I mean, I’ll do it if you want me to, but I was just teasing. I’m probably shit at posing.”

“Calum,” Ashton chuckles, a puff of air coming out of his mouth. “You just need to stand there and be handsome and yourself, I think you’ve got that down.”

“Okay. Why not, then.”

“I’m not going to do this until a couple weeks at least, but I can show you the other pieces now if you want?” Ashton offers. “So that you can see if you like them. They’re paintings.”

“Inviting me home, sweetheart?”

“Well,” Ashton says, getting up when Calum does. “I was hoping you would have invited  _ me  _ if I hadn’t. If I recall, you said to wait until next time, and that feels like more than next time, don’t you think?”

“Oh yeah? You’ve been getting impatient while I was away?”

“Huh, I mean–”

“You  _ have _ . It’s okay, I know.” Calum takes a step closer to Ashton. “You’re ready to let me make you forget your name? Is that what you want?”

It’s ridiculous how fast Ashton makes himself shrink down at the words, clutching his sketchbook to his chest as Calum looks down at him with a heated gaze. He smells like sweat, and Ashton is reminded of the running clothes. It’s not helping matters here. “I– yes. I want that,” he whimpers. “But you still need to invite me over.”

“Why is that?”

“My roommate’s home.”

Calum raises an eyebrow. “You have a roommate?” Ashton nods. “You mean someone else has been seeing you everyday being all pretty?”

“I mean, yes?” Ashton swallows when Calum’s eyes grow darker at that.

“You’re not theirs, though, are you sweetheart? They’re nothing more than your roommate?”

Ashton frowns. “No, of course not. We’re not– he’s not– he has a boyfriend.”

“Good to know.”

Before Ashton knows it Calum tilts his head up with his cold hands and then his lips are engulfed in the warmth of Calum’s, chapped but full and warm. It’s like his whole body is being lit on fire, the heat spreading from his fingers to his toes, his mouth the hottest point of all, and Ashton absolutely melts, letting himself be taken over by the feeling of Calum surrounding him, finally.

He lets Calum kiss him fiercely, opens his mouth to let Calum’s tongue in when it starts probing at his lips. Ashton can only bring a hand to Calum’s hip and fall pliant, small whimpers losing themselves in Calum’s mouth.

Ashton gets lost in it, forgets everything including where they are. He gets reminded of it when someone clears their throat next to them, making the two of them jump and breaking the kiss. The woman complains before leaving with a shake of her head, and Calum gives Ashton one last searing kiss before pulling back again, breathless.

“I think your paintings can wait, yeah?” he breathes against Ashton’s lips. “I feel like taking you back to mine right now.”

“Please.”

Calum takes Ashton’s hand in his and leads him back to the apartment block, walking almost too fast for Ashton to keep up, but he doesn’t complain. He can’t fucking wait, either. Their lips find each other again in the elevator, Calum’s hand buried in his hair and knee between his legs, making Ashton wish they were there already.

For the first time ever Ashton gets off the elevator at Calum’s floor, the seventeenth, and that alone gives him another adrenalin rush.

Calum lets go of him to open his apartment. When they get in they’ve surprisingly calmed down, and Calum offers Ashton a drink of water.

“I did just go on a run,” Calum explains, standing in a kitchen that looks like a mirror to Ashton and Michael’s as he gulps down a full water bottle.

Ashton downs the drink quickly, and Calum insists on taking a shower before getting his hands on Ashton properly, asks Ashton to get as naked as he feels like getting while waiting for him in his bedroom. With a blush, Ashton nods. That’s something he can do.

There are many records and instruments and all sorts of things in the room making Ashton believe Calum is a musical guy. He wonders why he keeps encountering the same kinds of people. Although, apart from the music thing, Michael and Calum don’t really seem similar. Who knows though, Ashton hasn’t heard a lot of Calum’s thoughts. He wouldn’t mind hearing them. Maybe over dinner. Or a cup of coffee. He’s not too picky.

Shaking his head, he takes off his clothes slowly, figuring it best to leave his boxers on. It’s a bit cold in the room, but he sucks it up, and it doesn’t prevent his dick from chubbing up as he settles on his knees in the middle of Calum’s bed, arms behind his back. Calum didn’t specify, but Ashton figures he’ll appreciate finding him like this, clearly waiting for instructions.

Ashton really hopes he hasn’t misread anything. He would be crushed if Calum wasn’t into this; he always sounds so assertive and his comments don’t leave much to the imagination, but he knows sometimes people tease without knowing what they’re talking about.

All his doubts leave him when Calum comes back — Ashton hadn’t even heard the shower being cut off — and stops, completely naked, in the doorway. His eyes go dark, and his shoulders straighten up and everything in his posture is suddenly the opposite of Ashton’s.

“I thought you’d be good, but I had no idea you’d be  _ this  _ good, sweetheart,” Calum says, voice deep. Ashton flushes at the praise.

Calum doesn’t move, just stares at Ashton with a slight smirk, and Ashton gulps, takes the time to look at him.

Somehow, he’d made the mistake of thinking the naked Calum in his head would be the hottest he’d ever see. This Calum is much more attractive, and Ashton’s dick agrees with that. Calum looks broader than he ever did with his clothes on, arms defined and tattoos covering them as well as parts of his chest and torso. It fits the character, Ashton muses.

His dick, hard and flushed red between his toned thighs, is just asking for Ashton to put his mouth on it and get it wetter than it already is.

“Why don’t you come over here?” Calum asks, taking a step further into the room.

Ashton gets up slowly, his legs already a bit shaky, and goes to stand in front of Calum. Without his shoes on he doesn’t look quite as tall, but his presence still takes up all of Ashton’s space, still makes him feel as small as he wants to feel.

“Hey there sweetheart,” Calum says, hand coming up to brush Ashton’s cheek softly before sliding to the curls at the top of Ashton’s head and tugging once, sharp.

Ashton moans, and his eyes blow wide. He’d fall to his knees if Calum wasn’t holding him up by his hair, but Calum didn’t say to do that.

“Yeah, knew it’d be nice to tug on,” Calum says, the words reverberating down Ashton’s spine.

“What,” Ashton starts, voice cracking. “What do you want me to do?”

“A lot of things.” He tugs at his hair again before letting it go. “Let’s start with getting on your knees for me. See if you look as good as I think you will.”

Ashton is on the floor before Calum has finished talking, hands coming up to Calum’s waist. It hurts a little, the carpeting rougher than he’d anticipated, but he makes sure not to show it. He swallows, mouth suddenly salivating at the sight of Calum’s cock so close to his face.

“God, you’re a sight, you know that? So pretty at my feet.” Calum almost sounds like he’s in awe of Ashton, who flushes all over at the words. “You like that? When I tell you how pretty you look?”

Ashton nods, and Calum tells him again before getting his hand back in Ashton’s hair, not tugging, just holding.

“How about you show me how pretty you can be with a cock in your mouth?” Ashton nods again, probably a bit too enthusiastically, and Calum chuckles darkly. “Go on, then, pretty.”

As soon as the command is out of Calum’s mouth Ashton shuffles forward, not wasting any time before sliding his tongue up Calum’s cock, twirling it around the head a few times. Calum doesn’t seem to be into the teasing though, guides Ashton’s mouth to take the head in his mouth with the hand in his hair. Ashton takes it, moaning at the feeling of his mouth being full. 

He hasn’t done this in a while, and he’d fucking missed it, and he hopes he can still satisfy Calum.

That doesn’t seem to be an issue, if Calum’s quiet, pleased noises coming out of his throat as Ashton bobs his heap up and down are any indication.

Ashton loses himself in it, going slower when Calum tells him to, deeper when Calum pushes his head down further, not without asking Ashton if it’s okay. And it’s okay. Ashton almost chokes once or twice, but he gets the hang of it quickly, muscle memory coming back when he needs it, and it’s  _ good. _

Ashton is so hard between his thighs, his dick chafing against the cotton of his boxers, but he refrains from touching himself. He thinks that with this being their first time Calum wouldn’t be mad at him for doing it without asking, but Ashton would be incredibly disappointed in himself. And he doesn’t want to risk being bad, just in case.

Knowing Calum is into it would make it worse. He needs to please him and be praised for a job well done, but if he doesn’t do anything that deserves praising then he’s not going to get it, is he?

“Okay, stop, get up,” Calum breathes out just when Ashton thinks he’s about to come down Ashton’s throat.

Begrudgingly Ashton lets go of Calum’s cock and gets back to his feet, letting Calum bring their lips together in a passionate kiss before he’s told to get naked and on the bed.

Ashton takes off his boxers and lays on his back on the bed, hands fisting the sheets as he watches Calum walk to the bedside table to retrieve lube and condoms. From this angle his ass looks so fucking pert, more than Ashton had thought from the way his clothes hid his body, and Ashton wants to get his hands on it.

Maybe he’ll get the chance soon, as Calum comes back to him, crawling up the bed with a firm yet charming smile, slotting himself in between Ashton’s legs like he was made to be here. He's big, shadowing Ashton perfectly.

His smile turns delicate then, one hand coming up to graze Ashton’s cheek, fingers fluttering against the skin, and the unexpected touch is what prevents Ashton from moaning at Calum’s hard cock coming into contact with his hip.

“Hey there,” Calum says, all soft suddenly. It’s like the atmosphere has shifted, the air still tense with desire and expectation, but there’s something in Calum’s eyes betraying the importance of the moment, beyond the physical aspect of it.

“Hi,” Ashton says back. There’s a smile creeping up on his own face that he can’t retain, but he’s not sure he wants to. His hands find their way back to Calum’s waist.

“My god, do you actually have any idea how pretty you are?”

The words, paired with the reverence in Calum’s voice, make Ashton’s head turn slightly, and he shakes his head no, not sure what else to do.

“Well I need you to know,” Calum says, eyes flickering down to Ashton’s lips, “that I’ve never seen anyone with such raw, pure beauty in them. I want to look at you forever. Among other things.”

“You can’t just say that,” Ashton whispers.

“I can.” Calum’s eyes grow darker again for a second. “Can’t I say and do anything I want to you sweetheart? If I know it’s what you need?” Ashton nods. “With words, Ashton.”

“Yes. Yes you can. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s alright.”

The fingers on Ashton’s face trail down to his neck, barely touching the skin and making Ashton’s breath catch in his throat. His body is starting to get back with the program, especially when Calum’s hand stops on his abdomen, right next to where his cock is still achingly hard, waiting for something other than sweet words to happen.

“Now what am I gonna do to you?” Calum asks against his neck where he’s taken to biting lightly. “Should I touch you where you want it? Should I eat you out?” Ashton moans. “You’d like that? Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m not in the mood.”

“I can put you in the mood, it’s not–”

“Are you really questioning me right now?” Calum’s eyes are firm, intimidating. Ashton shrinks into the mattress. “You’ve been good so far Ashton, why would you change that now?”

“I’m sorry,” Ashton sputters, bucking up into Calum. Their dicks touch, and Ashton whimpers. “I’m sorry, you can do anything you want, I don’t care, just please, do something.”

“What if what I want is to fuck you slowly because I’m tired, Ashton?” He rocks his hips in little circle eights against Ashton’s to emphasize his point.

Ashton shakes his head at that, eyes big and getting wet, because he  _ can’t _ . Not after everything. “No, no, no, please anything but that.”

“Careful, I might do it if you keep contradicting everything I say,” Calum says, but he removes Ashton’s hands from his waist, putting them above his head on the pillow and holding them here with one hand, his other coming up to grip Ashton’s jaw tightly. Ashton whimpers again.  _ Finally _ . “You don’t like slow, then? You like it hard and rough? Like to feel it?”

“Yes–”

“And why should I give it to you?”

Ashton thinks about the hands holding him in place right now and Calum’s unhappy eyes on him, and moans pitifully, toes curling thinking about how it would feel to have all of this focused on fucking him. He needs it.

“Why, Ashton?” Calum repeats, squeezing Ashton’s wrists.

“Please, please fuck me–”

“If you keep being bad I’m gonna be very disappointed, sweetheart.” Calum says. His voice is cold, and Ashton’s stomach drops. “I asked you a question. Why should I give it to you?”

“Because I’ve been good,” Ashton says desperately, and it’s  _ true, _ Calum has to believe him. “I just slipped, but I’m good, I swear, I’ll shut up but I haven’t been bad, please tell me I’m not bad Calum–”

“Ashton, look at me.” Ashton does. He’s starting to cry, he realizes, which is absolutely humiliating, and not the good kind. Calum’s hand leaves his jaw, but the other remains on his wrists, grounding. “You’re not bad, please calm down. What’s your colour?”

“I– I think– green–”

“Are you being honest?”

Ashton closes his eyes. “No, I– yellow. I’m sorry for lying, but–”

“It’s okay,” Calum says assuredly. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. Good. Have you done this before?”

“Yes,” Ashton says, voice trembling a little. This is embarrassing. “I promise. I just don’t like feeling like I’m being bad, it’s not–” He sniffs, forces himself not to look away. “I just don’t like it. Doesn’t make me feel good.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Calum soothes. “You’re not bad, I was just playing with you. But I'll stop that.”

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” Calum leans down to press his lips against his, warm and comforting. Ashton feels stupid. “Do you still trust me to give you what you need, love?”

“Yes. I do.” Ashton is sure about it.

“Alright then.” Calum’s voice is firm again, and Ashton finds himself getting back into the right headspace. “You keep your hands up there and you don’t move. I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good you won’t know what hit you.”

“Promise?”

“Oh, I promise,” Calum chuckles. “And you’re gonna take it so well, aren’t you? Cause you’re a good little slut?”

The tension rises back up with the words, and Ashton nods with a whine, gripping the pillow when Calum’s hands leave his wrists. It’s for a good cause though. Calum coats his fingers with lube, bringing them seconds later to Ashton’s hole, teasing slightly and making him writhe on the bed with a moan before sliding the first finger in.

Calum makes a quick affair of opening Ashton up, fingers deft and skillful. His other hand wanders, and so does his mouth, teasing at Ashton’s nipples and hips, but never touching his cock, so red and dripping on his stomach. Ashton tries to ignore it, but one of his hands still slides down to reach for it. 

Thankfully — or not, he guesses — Calum’s hand is quicker, holding his back to the pillow with the other hand, holding them back down again. Calum doesn't say anything though, and Ashton relaxes, relishes in the grounding weight of the hand on his wrists and the relentless fingers avoiding his prostate with every thrust.

They’re gone soon enough, and Calum instructs him to turn on his stomach, ass up in the air. Ashton flushes at the position, especially when nothing happens for a moment, his loud breathing the only thing filling his head.

“Your ass is just as pretty as the rest of you,” Calum says. Ashton hears the sound of paper tearing and a condom being put on. “Would be a shame to turn it all red.”

Before Ashton has time to process the words Calum slides into him, slowly but surely, and Ashton can only let out the sound stuck in his throat when Calum bottoms out. Calum is big. Fuck, he’s big, but he fills Ashton so perfectly, Ashton never wants him to leave his body.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Perfect for me Ash.”

Weight settles on Ashton’s back, and hands come back up to grip his and hold them against the pillow while a mouth comes next to his ear. Calum breathes, switching between telling Ashton how good he feels inside and biting on his earlobe as he starts thrusting back and forth lazily.

It’s too slow, and exactly what Ashton doesn’t want, but it still feels good as fuck, his body on fire and his cock aching where it’s touching the bed, so he doesn’t say anything, just bites down his frustrated noises and rocks his hips back into Calum’s and takes it.

It’s not really fair though, that Calum is explicitly denying him after saying he was good. He tries to ask for it with his body, but Calum is ignoring him, thrusting in the same pattern and rhythm and it’s driving Ashton absolutely crazy. He knows it’s what Calum is after, riling Ashton up so it's even better afterwards, but Ashton can’t help it, and he can’t contain himself anymore.

“Oh my god, Calum please, I can’t,” he whines, pulling on his hands, but Calum’s grip is unrelenting.

“What is it you want, honey?” Calum asks, acting dumb. That makes Ashton fume.

“Fuck you, you know what I want–”

“Oh, you watch your tone with me, boy.”

Ashton might have cried at the words and the mad voice, but one of Calum’s hands lets go of his wrist then, flying to his hair and pulling, and Ashton’s back arches, because that’s one thing he likes and Calum is still giving it to him. Calum is so good to him, fuck. Ashton doesn’t deserve him.

“I’m going to ruin you, and you’re going to regret asking for it.”

Ashton goes boneless at the promise, before crying into the air as Calum bottoms out with a harsh thrust.

“Is that what you wanted? For me to fuck you like you deserve it?” 

A stream of  _ yes _ es escape Ashton's mouth, the rapidly accelerating pace setting him ablaze, heat coiling in the pit of his stomach and making the bed creak with how hard Calum is going. 

Still, " _ faster _ ", Ashton begs, not thinking. That earns him a light tap on his right asscheek, Calum sitting up and denying him the warmth of his body, and Ashton shivers, both at the tap and the cold. And so " _ faster _ ", Ashton says again, earning him another, slightly harder tap.

Calum chuckles darkly. His punishing pace doesn't slow down, switching angles to hit Ashton’s prostate dead on, and Ashton doesn't understand how Calum can still  _ speak _ because this is leaving him breathless. “So, we don't want to be a bad boy but we want to be punished for being greedy? How does that add up sweetheart?” 

“Calum–” 

“Or is it not about being punished?” Calum wonders out loud. “Is it about the pain?” He punctuates his question with a tug to Ashton's hair, the hardest one yet. It makes Ashton go absolutely mad with lust, fists tearing at the pillowcase and a scream getting stuck in his throat. 

Calum's cock is pounding into him from behind, tearing at him from the inside and making his breath stutter and his body shiver, Calum's fist tugging on his sweaty curls and Calum's hand gripping his red ass, and everything is Calum and Ashton thinks he loves Calum and he doesn't know how or why but it’s so warm and he really needs to come and–

“I'm gonna come,” he warns, voice strained with his head pulled back so far and all the screaming he's been doing. “Please Calum can I come?”

“Already, sweetheart?”

“I'm sorry, but you're fucking me so good,” Ashton whines, wishing he could do it into the pillow. But Calum is still holding his head up, and Ashton’s neck is starting to hurt and it’s getting harder to breathe, especially with Calum rocking his body forward. It’s the best.

“Yeah? I'm fucking you good?” A hand comes down on his ass, hard.

“Yes, yes you are,” Ashton whimpers desperately.

“I went easy on you today sweetheart, I hope you know that,” he says, but his actions say otherwise. Ashton still nods. “I'll be so much worse with you next time, especially if you're a good boy like you are today. And good boys get to come, don’t they? Come for me Ash.”

And this, the praise, the permission paired with the promise of a  _ next time _ and the harsh, real slap on Ashton's cheek, has Ashton coming untouched against the sheet with a whine, so hard he almost whites out, his whole body convulsing.

Calum doesn’t let him, tugging harder on Aston’s curls as he fucks into him, getting himself there. Ashton is getting sensitive, his cock protesting where it’s now trapped against his stomach and the bed, and his hole is twitching around Calum’s cock every few seconds.

“Yeah, fuck, keep doing that,” Calum breathes out, his composure starting to slip.

So Ashton does, tries to put his energy into clenching around Calum tighter, but it’s hard and it hurts and he’s taken to whimpering because he can’t do it, and he wants to be good for Calum and make him come but he’s so tired and–

“Oh, fuck,” he croaks out at the feeling of Calum’s hand coming down on his ass hard, the sting reverberating through his whole body and making him clench without trying.  _ “Fuck.” _

“Yeah, so good for me, you’re so good, such a good boy,” Calum lets out, hand burning his ass red again, and again, and Ashton is too sensitive to get hard again, but he still feels the heat building back up in his lower body.

Before he can wonder if it’s going to be a problem Calum’s thrusts become erratic, no rhythm to them, and then he stills, a silent moan escaping his lips before he lets go of Ashton’s hair, cutting his strings and letting him fall to the bed.

“Good boy,” Calum keeps whispering breathlessly against his ear in between kisses to his jaw, still inside him as he rubs Ashton’s hip soothingly, and Ashton finds himself smiling lazy, thinking about doing this  _ next time _ , and another next time, and maybe forever, if Calum will have him.

It’s a bit forward thinking, but Ashton is happy and sated and Calum thinks he’s been good, and without his consent his eyes close, and he falls asleep to the thought.

—//—

“Ashton? Ashton love?”

His name pierces through the veil of sleep; Ashton frowns, confused to hear Calum’s voice in this context.

“Ashton?” Calum repeats, shaking Ashton naked shoulder lightly. “I’m so sorry to wake you up, but you really need to.”

Slowly Ashton blinks awake, only to find Calum’s face above him, with a contrite look on it.

“What,” Ashton starts, but barely any sound comes out. He tries again. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, you did,” Calum says. There’s a satisfied look in his eyes, because he knows it’s all because of him. Ashton flushes, though he’s not awake enough to be ashamed of it. “Must have really tired you out, you slept for about two hours.”

“Did I? Well, I didn’t get much sleep this week.”

“Are you saying this isn’t all me?”

“No, all of it is because of you.” Ashton sits up, rubbing his eyes. There’s a blanket covering his lower body, and he warms up thinking about Calum putting it over him.

“Is it? How so?”

“I was frustrated that I wasn’t seeing you. Drove me fucking nuts.”

A smirk rises on Calum’s face then. “Yeah? You couldn’t stop thinking about me?”

“Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I first saw you,” Ashton confesses, fiddling with the blanket.

“Yeah?”

Ashton nods

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me? When I didn’t give you what you needed, did you give it to yourself, sweetheart?”

“ _ Calum _ ,” Ashton whines, turning red.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck, yes, but–”

Calum leans forward, cutting him off with his lips, swallowing Ashton’s complaints. Despite himself Ashton kisses him back fervently, hands coming up to Calum’s shaved head to mirror Calum’s disappearing in his curls. Calum’s hair is soft, and so are his lips despite turning Ashton’s brain to mush, and it’s glorious, and Ashton’s body starts lighting up again, but he can’t, not so soon.

“Calum,” he whispers, pushing Calum away slowly. Calum lets him. “Not again, I can’t go again.”

“Oh, right,” Calum concedes with one last peck to Ashton’s lips. He leans back, hand coming up to scratch behind his own neck. “Right, fuck that’s why I woke you up.” He bites his lips, and he looks sorry before he even speaks. “I would love to have kept you around, but I have to leave in like, forty minutes, so.”

Ashton’s stomach drops. “You need to leave?”

“Yes, to dinner. With friends,” he adds hurriedly.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I know this is kind of a rush, but you looked so sweet and peaceful, I couldn’t stand to wake you earlier.”

Ashton flushes again, though he’s not sure he ever really stopped. He nods with a small smile. He understands. It’s not as if Calum expected to sleep with him today.

After Calum kisses him again, Ashton stands to put on his clothes and retrieves his sketchbook that he’d left on the desk, refusing Calum’s offer to shower here. He can shower in ten minutes when he gets home.

(Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe he just wants to keep Calum’s musk on him as a reminder that this finally happened. That Calum promised him a  _ next time _ .)

“So, huh,” Calum starts when he sees Ashton to the door. He looks shy, almost, a complete one eighty of what Ashton has always seen. “I know we’ve done this kind of backwards, but, huh, I would very much like to take you on a date. If you want to. If you want more than just the sex. Maybe it’s not what you–”

‘Calum,” Ashton breaks off. “Of course I want to.”

“You do?”

Calum’s smile is bright, honest and joyful, and Ashton is certain the one on his own face is just the same.

“Yes,” he says, pecking Calum’s lips. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

Calum just smiles, kisses Ashton again, before regretfully saying he really needs to go and get ready. They exchange their numbers, agreeing to schedule a date this week, and with another, promising kiss, Ashton is out the door.

The smile doesn’t leave his face, and he’s ready to spill all of this to Michael after he’s taken his shower.

* * *

When he gets home though, it’s to the smell of homemade chili heating up on the stove and Luke and Michael cuddled up on the couch, Luke in one of his pretty silk shirts and Michael dressed up slightly more than usual.

“Huh, hi Luke,” Ashton greets with a frown.

“Hey,” Luke says, smiling.

“Don’t I get a hello too?” Michael asks, pouting.

Ashton rolls his eyes. “I saw you all morning, you dumb fuck.”

“That’s not–” Michael breaks himself off, sniffing. “The fuck do you smell like? And why do your lips look like  _ that?” _

Ashton flushes. He’d almost forgotten.

“Nothing, what,” he splutters, but Michael stands up and gets in front of him, and chuckles.

“You dirty little thing, that’s where you’ve been all afternoon!”

“Where has he been?” Luke asks, and Ashton is going to kill them. He didn’t want to tell Michael like this, he would have liked the dignity of being  _ clean. _

“Fucking our neighbour, I reckon,” Michael says with a smirk.

“The hot neighbour you want to rough you up?” Luke jumps in.

“Oh, shut up, I was going to tell you all about it but now I don’t think I will.”

“Okay, sorry.” Michael raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll let you tell us over dinner.”

“About that,” Ashton starts. “What are we doing? You never cook chili unless it’s a big occasion.”

“You remember me saying that?”

“Of course I do! I have a great memory, thank you very much. So, what's up?”

Michael frowns. “Did you forget? Calum is coming over tonight, I told you.”

The air leaves Ashton’s lungs at the name, and it’s his turn to frown. “What– why would you invite– what do you mean  _ Calum _ is coming over?”

“I thought you had a great memory? Cal is coming over to meet Luke properly because he’s finally decided to stop being an asshole about him. Ringing any bells?” Michael rolls his eyes, and Luke kisses his cheek, and usually Ashton would find it adorable, but right now he’s stuck on  _ Calum. _

Something is not adding up. Or, rather, it is, but Ashton can’t comprehend it. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s not– really, Calum?”

“Yes?” 

“Calum your best friend? Cal?” Ashton is going to hyperventilate. This can’t be happening to him.

Luke and Michael are both frowning now, and Michael clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Yes, are you deaf, what can’t you–”

“Wait michael what– what does Cal look like?”

Michael rolls his eyes, apparently deciding to humour Ashton, and takes his phone out of his pocket, showing him a picture of Michael, hair a faded pink and smiling, sitting at a restaurant table. And with his arm wrapped around him, in all his shaved dark haired glory, the man whose bed Ashton just left. Whose scent has seeped into Ashton’s skin and clothes.

Oh fuck. Calum is Cal. Calum is Michael’s best friend. Calum is the one who’s producing Michael’s music, which would explain all the music things in his apartment. Calum is also the dickhead who’s been mad at Michael for dating Luke because Luke apparently stole his boyfriend back in high-school. Or whatever it was.

“I need a shower,” Ashton says, giving Michael his phone back.

Michael tries to talk to him, but Ashton doesn’t listen, couldn’t even hear him if he wanted to. He mindlessly prepares a pair of black skinny jeans similar to the one he’s wearing right now, but  _ clean _ , and something that looks like a dress shirt as well as  _ clean  _ underwear, and promptly locks himself in the bathroom.

—//—

When he comes out, dressed up like he never does and curls as styled as he could get them to be, he’s calmed down a little.

Nothing bad should be able to come out of this. He just needs to act normal, as if he didn’t know Calum. He can do that, he figures.

Except that becomes a bit less likely to happen as he gets into the living room to find all three men standing together, laughing easily. Michael and Luke are standing close, arms around each other and saying something stupid, probably. In front of them, here Calum is, looking like he just walked out of Ashton’s dreams — that happens often, Ashton knows; but Calum  _ is  _ all he could dream about.

He’s dressed up, like all of them are, but it’s still undeniably Calum; the grey dress pants fit his legs and ass perfectly, the back dress shirt hiding the tattoos that Ashton has just discovered making his chest look insanely buff, the usual platform boots getting him up high over Ashton as he timidly walks up to him.

“Oh, Ash, here you are!” Michael shouts excitedly.

Calum turns to him at the announcement, and his eyes widen for a second, but the expression is gone before Ashton can return it because this fucker is too good at keeping his composure, and he just looks at Ashton with a raised eyebrow.

“So Cal, this is Ashton. Ashton, here’s Calum,” Michael introduces them.

“Hey Ashton,” Calum says, looking Ashton up and down approvingly. His voice is deep, a hint of dominance that Ashton is probably the only one to pick up on.

“Hum, hi,” Ashton replies.

He tries to act as casual as he can, but Calum is right here and he’s tall and wearing something close to a suit and Ashton is barefoot and he’s powerless to do anything but stare up into Calum’s warm brown eyes. They feel safe, somehow, no matter what they’re not saying. Ashton guesses it’s different, now that he’s felt Calum’s body and that there’s the promise of a date and a  _ next time. _

“Oh, right,” Michael says with a chuckle and a roll of his eyes. “Ashton has a thing for tall men.”

“Does he, now?” Calum’s tone is teasing, knowing.

“Oh you bet he does,” Michael continues, unaware, letting go of Luke when the stove beeps to say it’s done cooking. “He just fucked one,” Michael says offhandedly in the kitchen. “That tall hot neighbour he’s been getting hard for in the elevator or whatever.”

Calum smirks at the words, muttering an “ _ I see _ ” to Michael; Ashton blushes, shuffling on his feet; and Luke tries his hardest not to laugh, but one look at Ashton’s face and he’s gone, a full body laughter taking him over.

Ashton hates them all. He’s going to die from embarrassment. 

Michael calls them to eat before he or Calum can say anything, and Luke leaves first, leaving Ashton alone with Calum.

“It’s a small world, isn’t it sweetheart?” Calum whispers into his ear before ushering him to the dining table with a hand at the small of his back.

It’s no surprise that Ashton goes willingly, sitting next to Calum as Michael instructs.

Dinner is tense. To Ashton, at least. Everyone else seems to get on just fine. Luke and Calum laugh together, Michael looking at both of them fondly, something like relief on his face. Ashton spends the entire time trying to listen and speak when talked to, but he has a hard time focusing. Because Calum is a menace, and his big, warm hand takes residence at the inside of Ashton’s thigh, gripping slightly but possessively.

It’s hot, and Michael and Luke could see, and the thought makes the blood flow to Ashton’s cheeks. He’ll take it, though. Cheeks are good.

“So,” Michael says halfway through desert, a full grin on his face. “How was your day, Ash?”

All eyes turn to him, even Calum’s, and Ashton can’t look at either of them. “It was, uh. It was good.”

“Only good?” Calum asks before Michael can, and that’s not fair.

Ashton shakes his head, gulps down a glass of water. “No, it was, hum.”

Calum squeezes his thigh, and Ashton can feel his deep stare on him, and Calum is doing this in front of Michael, what is happening? Doesn’t he want to be careful?

“Ash?” Michael says. “How was it? You’re not getting shy on us, are you?” He chuckles. “You know how to talk about him when you’re horny, and now you’re gonna stop just cause you got some? Not fair.”

“I’d like to know,” Calum says, interested. “What do you say about him?”

“Careful Cal,” Michael warns, serious suddenly. “I get that you haven’t gotten your fix in a while but Ashton sounds like he’s into this guy.”

“I’m just asking a question,” Calum says.

Ashton looks up at him finally, and his eyes are heated and dark, too dark for dinner while Michael and Luke are across from them.

“What do you say about your neighbour, Ashton?” 

His tone is dark yet playful, his hand sliding up Ashton’s thigh an inch, fingers grazing his crotch, and Ashton jumps, hitting his knee on the table. He flushes, and Calum laughs, removing his hand. The look in his eyes softens as if nothing had just happened, as if he hadn’t risen the temperature of the room in front of their friends, and he brings his lips to the crown of Ashton’s head in a soft kiss that makes Ashton’s insides melt, before turning back to his plate.

“I’m just teasing, sweetheart,” Calum says. Three pairs of eyes turn to him then, Michael gaping and Luke refraining from laughing and Ashton frowning slightly, but he can’t help smiling.

Calum acknowledging him like this in front of Michael and Luke is almost the best thing to happen to him today. Almost.

“What the fuck?” Michael asks.

Calum lets out a chuckle, looks at Ashton fondly.

“You didn’t tell Michael the name of your neighbour?”

“No,” Ashton answers. That’s an easy enough question.

“Why don’t you tell him whose pillow you were just moaning into then, Ashton?”

“ _ What the fuck, _ ” Michael repeats, choking on his crème brûlée. Luke isn’t faring much better next to him.

“Oh, stop acting like a prude,” Calum says, rolling his eyes. “You’re a pro at telling me every detail of your sex life.”

Michael shakes his head. “No, I mean, okay, that’s gross, but what the actual fuck– Ashton.” Michael turns his attention to him. “Ashton  _ what  _ is happening?”

The thought of the floor swallowing him up is becoming very interesting again, and he mumbles his answer with everyone’s eyes on him.

“I didn’t hear that,” Michael says, and Luke sighs.

“He just fucked Calum, alright?”

Calum snorts, sharing an amused look with Luke. Michael doesn’t laugh, and Ashton watches as he looks from him to Calum to Luke and back to Ashton, confused.

“Is this for real?” Michael asks. Calum just shrugs. “You’ve been fucking and neither of you told me?”

“It was the first time, alright?” Calum says.

“Okay, but you’ve been flirting for  _ weeks,” _ Michael points out. “And I get that you didn’t tell me because we weren’t talking, but Ash, you couldn’t have told me you the guy you were salivating over was my best friend?”

“I didn’t know!”

“What do you mean, you didn’t know? Not many people called Calum over here.”

Ashton crosses his arms. “You never told me his name was Calum. Or that he was our  _ neighbour.” _ Unbelievable. Michael is unbelievable.

“That’s not possible. We’ve  _ talked  _ about him.”

“It is! You always call him Cal, you never once used his full name until today.”

It takes too long for Michael to answer, as he’s too busy doing his best impersonation of a goldfish, and the absolute ridiculousness of the whole situation seems to hit them all at once. Luke starts laughing again, and all of them follow instantly, even Ashton despite his red cheeks.

“I can’t believe this,” Ashton says, still laughing against Calum’s shoulder. It’s comfortable here, he likes being close to Calum like this. “This is the weirdest shit that’s ever happened to me.”

“Okay wait a second,” Michael says. Everyone turns to him. “Are you guys just fucking? What’s up with all this?”

Ashton shakes his head. “No we’re, huh. Hopefully going on a date soon,” he says, a grin creeping up on his face.

Calum’s face mirrors his when he looks up at him. His brown eyes are the warmest Ashton has ever seen them, soft and promising —  _ next time _ — and the fire it ignites in Ashton is nothing but a flutter of flames, here to warm him up and keep him safe.

“Okay, that’s good.” Michael nods to himself, throwing Ashton out of his reverie. “Except for the fact that now I don’t know who to give the ‘if you hurt him I’ll kill you’ talk.”

There’s no way Calum’s jaw can drop closer to the floor. It’s cute; Ashton would know, it’s hard not to smile like an idiot looking at him.

“ _ Excuse _ me,” Calum says. “How– I’m your best friend, how can you even hesitate–”

“I’ve been the most supportive of you and your boyfriend lately–”

Luke joins in trying to decide who’s the most worthy of Michael’s possible revenge, throwing ridiculous arguments into the mix. It’s ridiculous, and he defends Ashton, because apparently Luke forgives easily but he doesn’t forget, and Michael just laughs in the background, basking in his friends’ love.

Ashton feels at home, he realizes.

And when, after saying his goodbyes to Luke and Michael, Calum kisses him at the door with a promise of seeing him again as soon as possible to see the paintings or to have coffee, the warmth of his smile looping itself around Ashton’s heart soundly, Ashton thinks maybe, just maybe, it’s possible he feels a little bit in love, too.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> comments/kudos are always appreciated :)  
> also i'm on [tumblr](https://michaelownsmyheart.tumblr.com/) if you want to come say hi!


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